I was planning on writing a long post about how difficult it is to write fiction and how the process has taken me through every emotion, to the max. But I waited to write about it, because I was in too much of a fiction fog to express myself in anything but a cloud of self pity.
Even though I have some other posts in the wings, I can't avoid writing about the fiction-creating process because I need to let other people know that writing fiction is hard, much more difficult than writing non-fiction.
A while ago, I wrote a novel, and then I started another one, for which I wrote several pages and drafts, but it wasn't solid enough to pursue seriously. So I threw out all the drafts of that second one, still intending to get back to it, and did a substantial amount of a third one. I spent the month of August writing thousands of words, and then hit a wall. I found myself becoming full of despair because I didn't know if what I was writing was sincere or if I was writing it to satisfy Mr. or Ms. Agent (if I ever get around to contacting them). It got to the point where I didn't even know why I was writing--I just wanted to finish the draft and move on to the editing stage. It became mechanical and impersonal and I felt isolated and fearful that what I was doing meant nothing.
There's a lot more I'd like to say about all those fiction-related emotions, but I have to step back from the process to try to understand it and then effectively describe it.
So now I've decided to put aside that project for a week (hopefully at the most) and finish some translations. If I ever get published, I am definitely not going to be one of those aloof writers sitting in my concrete tower. I'd like to write about the process, to let people know what they're up against if they choose to pursue it, and I want to communicate the struggles that don't seem to exist with non-fiction.
I might write about this topic again, because it still seems unresolved.
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