Photo courtesy of margolove. It’s been three weeks of intensive writing, of getting up most mornings at 4:30 a.m. and sitting down at the computer with nothing but a cup of coffee and my sleepy imagination. By the time I approach the second hour my head’s spinning, whether it’s from plot confusion or a caffeine buzz or the thumping of Sagebrush Blues in my headphones it’s hard to tell. But something magical is happening to this thick, foggy alphabet soup I’ve been simmering. Words, once sitting flat on the page, are getting up and shaping themselves into a mountain here, an alkali flat there, a dirt road leads to a shack and an old man walks out of it. I’m loving it!
In the process of writing a 50,000-word novel in one month, I’m learning what kind of writer I am, the how of writing, of what my brain does when it’s cooking up a story on the spot. The Wall Street Journal interviews a bunch of top writers on this topic in this fascinating article.
Go, Rachael, go! :confetti:
I've always wanted to write, but instead I continue to be the weird girl in the back of the room talking to myself.