A big, fat old manuscript sits on my dining room table. It’s the copyedited version of the novel that is coming out this June. I have to read myself one more time! This when I’m trying to begin to discern any strands of the misty cobweb that is the beginning of a novel, the gossamer nothing that is beginning, the story that isn’t there, the idea that can’t quite be grasped. What a fool I am, I always think when I’m beginning a novel (and when I’m deep in it) to think I can do this. I guess it’s because once the story starts to live, it’s hard to imagine it any other way. But until it breaths on its own, I have to have such trust, such faith, such sheer bullheadedness. It was easier when I was younger, the bullheadedness, I mean. The faith and trust are the work of my grey hairs. As English novelist Iris Murdock once said, “Every novel is the wreck of a perfect idea.”


3 responses to “wrecks

  1. Just exactly the thing I needed to read to pick up my pen again with bullheadedness and work on a floundering mess of a first draft of something or rather that may become something. Thank you!
    And I’m clicking my heels in anticipation of June!

  2. I’m not sure if it helps you to know, that there are so many of us out here that have all the faith in the world in you. We eagerly await for June. 🙂

  3. I’ve noticed that after I’ve worked on a big project, I feel empty for a while as I let go of the old project and focus on the new. Although I remind myself that this is part of my process, and it will pass, I don’t always accept those “limbo” moments as much as I could. You’ve put a great deal of energy into your completed novel–as that energy starts to shift, you will find your way. You always do!

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