Recently I read a blog post, okay, just the title of a blog post, which compared writing a novel to being pregnant. As I read the headline I nodded to myself. Yup, that’s totally what this feels like. You spend days, weeks, and months feeding and caring for this creation until finally, once it is perfected and ready to share with the world, you release it from the safety of you.
I just finished the first draft of the second book in my series. This time feels different, there’s still the terror of rejection, the worry that people will hate it, but there is also a real feeling of confidence. I’ve done this before, I feel like I know what I’m doing (relatively). Just like that second kid. You know, the one that eats food of the floor, jumps off the couch cushions, gets WAY more screen time than your first. It doesn’t mean I don’t love the second one as much as the first. This prior understanding of the process just helps me to be at ease.
As I read through my draft I find myself frustrated with some of the content, worrying that I need to add more, cut some out, give it more depth. I take my time and think about my characters and what they would or would not truly do. In fact, I love them. I want the best for them, even when they frustrate me. It seems like that blog that I didn’t actually read was really on to something.