I have loved writing from the time I could hold a crayon between my chubby little fingers. Oftentimes I still get an awkward sideways glance when I mention I'm writing a novel. (Why people think this is not a "normal" pastime, I'm still not sure.) My comment is nearly always followed by a question that I love to answer, "What is your book about?"
I proceed to recant my synopsis and watch people get heavily intrigued by the story and delve into all sorts of questions. (Questions that actually have helped me flesh out the finer details of my story) THAT. That is why I love to write. Storytelling is amazing to me. I love immersing myself in stories that I just want to bundle myself up in and never leave it's world. I also love creating that story for others who devour stories, as I do.
Currently, I'm so close to finishing the first draft of this novel (Uh, by the way, no one ever told me how frustrating the first draft of a novel can be - coming from short story writing), that I can't help but mention to anyone who will listen at at every opportunity that I'm writing a book. I HAVE to talk about it. I get giddy when I think I can get a mention in about it and act like a 5 year old with a secret.
It's actually starting to get embarrassing. Speaking of embarrassing, maybe I should write a post about how strange it feels to promote myself. I mean, I want people to know about me and my writing. I want people to read what I write. I want people to like what I write (meaning they have to read it to like it). So people need to know who I am and that I write. But self promotion feels weird. It just does.
Well, until I've situated my thoughts on feeling odd about self promotion, I'm outta here. My one year old beckons. And by beckons, I mean she's trying to rip our cats tail off. Later Gator.
No comments:
Post a Comment