Puffed myself up quite alarmingly, as a matter of fact. I’m surprised I
didn’t pop.
Despite how I may come across in these daily blogs of mine, I am spectacularly
unsure of myself as a writer at most times…. Perhaps, I need to correct that? I
am unsure of myself as a professionally successful writer. Yes, that’s better.
Oh, I know I can spin a yarn. Even plucking a set of words out of the
dictionary and plopping them effectively in print is a “thing” I can do pretty
darn well. (Years, and years, and years of trial and error will do that to even
the clumsiest word-oaf.)
However, planning out and writing a novel carefully, abiding by a much
worried upon outline, relying on the story to naturally give me the word count
that is needed, is new for me.
In my previous 50k novels, I rarely had more than 2 months to write
them. While a lot of very good writers can crank out a brilliant 2k of words a
day, I cannot. At all. So I was constantly feeling rushed, with the “Must reach
50k!” mantra always forefront in my mind.
With The Hushing Days, I have finally reached a place in the creative
process where I can trust the story to give me the length the publishers want. I
know, really know, if I follow the
outline and write each scene to its most powerful the word count will naturally
come.
I had never been to that place before. Just realized I was there
yesterday. Hence the puff.
I’m going to enjoy this momentary gloat. Might even wriggle around it
naked for a while.
Writers, bask in the momentary gloats wherever you may find them. They
are magical places to be.
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
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