The tricky trek toward those two little words
In my experience, writing the end of a novel has to be the hardest part.
In my experience, writing the end of a novel has to be the hardest part.
Close your eyes and imagine a writer. What do you see? A free-spirited young woman writing in a leather-bound journal beneath a tree?
Jealousy is an emotion we unpublished novelists know too well. Every success story of an out-of-nowhere-bestselling writer stirs up a storm of frustration, indignation, and, at times, incredulity.
The problem with stories is they require people. I’m not talking about author and reader—though they, as well as their relationship, are fraught with challenges too—but rather the individuals that populate the story itself.
If the first draft allows the writer to indulge in a carefree orgy of imagination, a Wild West of whimsy, and a devil-may-care series of experiments, then the editing process demands the writer to abstain, rein it in, and exorcise a host of demons.
The Social Security Administration recently released the top baby names for 2011. I know this because I can’t NOT click on an article about baby names.
In an earlier post, I defined a dabbler as someone who has yet to write one million words while simultaneously implying that the one million words benchmark might be less of a milestone than a state of mind.
Joseph Epstein said, “Every writer is a thief, though some of us are more clever than others at disguising our robberies.” He was referring to minor counts of plagiarism—an apt description, a novel turn of phrase, a treatment of syntax that (with a minor tweak) we could pass off as our own brilliant invention. However, the thievery doesn’t end there.