I am at the point in my novel whereupon exciting events begin to take place in the lead up to the final, climatic moments. I have been waiting for this moment to occur for months now. Still, there are still a few thousand words to go until I can begin to unleash my excitement upon the page. I just wanted to share something brief with you, though, before I start writing today.
I don’t really believe that you choose the book you are going to write, nor the time. Rather, the book and the time chooses you. For years I would write the first chapter of a story or conjure up a tale I believed to be the keys to success…yet to no avail. I could never continue with my writing. It was a test of perseverance, in a sense, to continually be dragged down by vicious thoughts and doubt for so long. Eventually, I questioned whether or not I was capable to ever produce a work worthy of being called a novel.
Yet, all of a sudden, one day this year, a story awoke within me and told me it was time. For the first time in my life, I have written and written until I can write no more. The nature of my novel has been sculpted by itself and has merely come to life through my fingertips as I type. The story I am writing is not one I would have predicted to have imagined, yet I am closer each day to finishing.
I know now that one can never force an idea onto a page. It comes with time and personal trial and error. I waited for years for my ideas to appear from the depths of my heart and mind and I hope that they continue to do so.