Yesterday I spent a very pleasant afternoon with an old friend I haven’t seen for ages.
As we were catching up, one of my children mentioned that I’d written part of a book. My friend wanted to know if I was planning to publish it and I just laughed.
They did, however, persuade me that I ought to finish it, even if I am the only one who ever reads it, so today I’ve done some editing. I need to replace all the #apprentice, #village, #horse etc. tags it is littered with when I couldn’t think of a name for something.
I write non-fiction as part of my job and I hate it. I haven’t written fiction since school and I hated it then, so why on Earth did I say yes when my 13 year old challenged me to try NaNo with them. I’m still not sure really, other than a mad moment of weakness.
So to my surprise I actually enjoyed the process and here I am with 54,000 words of utter drivel on my laptop and no idea what to do with them. I can’t imagine anyone else will want to read it but the characters are calling to me to finish the story. Unfortunately, I’m a terrible procrastinator if I don’t have a deadline so they may have to wait until Nov 2015 before I see them again.
If nothing else, it certainly gave me a greater appreciation of how hard it is to write and how long it takes. It was quite depressing to find that what took me 2 hours to write could be read in 10 minutes. Still, I may do less cursing of my favourite authors as I wait an eternity for a sequel.