Why Writing a Novel is Like Running 50 Miles--Part 3

Why Writing a Novel is Like Running 50 Miles--Part 3

So you keep going, and then suddenly you realize, you have to pee.

But there are no porta potties in sight. And you feel embarrassed. You try to keep going, but it’s no use. You find a bush.

As a writer, you also hide the ugly truth as much as possible.

Surely no one else steals ideas from TV shows or movies.

Or writes everything down in the wrong point of view and then has to fix it.

Or cuts out a full 250 pages from a manuscript because he has gone off in the wrong direction.

Or has to hire a babysitter to write when her kids are already in school full-time.

Or has to go on a writing retreat to a completely different state.

Or has to hire someone to turn off the internet for days on end, or you will get nothing done.

You come back from taking care of the ugly business. The book is finished. But you look around, and there’s no one anywhere. And there’s a storm brewing.

The book still isn’t working as well as you thought and you have no idea what to do. Aren’t writers supposed to know what to do? You keep reading through it. You can see what’s wrong, but you can’t see how to fix it.

You feel completely alone.

You make yourself go down to your office every day. You type words into the computer, but you have no idea if you’re actually making progress.

You wonder why you thought you wanted to do this job anyway.

Isn’t this just a way to make people crazy? Stuck in a windowless room, with no contact from the outside world except on the internet, and the only food is candy bars you know you shouldn’t be eating.

You want to get out, but you know you have to keep your butt in the chair. You have to keep at this, no matter how much it hurts.