On Writing a Novel, Entry #4

Tonight I sit down to a very late start. I spent the weekend off--enjoying Tennessee, the mountains, great grilling, great friendship--the only thing lacking was great writing. That was in very short supply. And by short supply, of course, I mean non-existent.

Perhaps it was good to leave Sammy for a while, to step back and relax him, relax my brain and my fingers to let the story simmer and develop. But I think it was more laziness. I was starting to develop a steady rhythm (which is abnormal for me, and I was overly proud, as you can tell from my last post), and suddenly the rhythm is gone. And now I'm realizing that the end of this week is the mid-point of the semester, at the end of which I am supposed to have 100 pages written.

I have, concurrently, 21. I have 4 more hand-written, and one 1/2 more typed for the future. This means I will have to triple my current output to complete on time. And I wonder how much it is worth it--how much value is there in spewing out page after page of crap, and how much more or less valuable is it to make sure the foundation is solid before I move on to the next chapter? I suppose it may not be possible to perfect a chapter first (if ever) because it could change to fit the story as it develops. Obviously I am not completely sure where I am growing, so how do I know how to build the foundation?

I need to know where I'm going, but I suppose until I do I can enjoy the ride, and my stops camping along the way. We're not in a hurry. Take it in, breathe it in and enjoy the crisp mountain air of literature.

On a side note: I purchased Kenny's first published novel tonight. I'm proud of him. He's a hell of a guy, and I'm proud to have called him my friend. I should call or write or something--reach out to stay in touch with him. I really, really suck at that. Really bad. I hope I get better someday because there are so many invaluable people from my past that I would love to draw back closer to me.

Perhaps someday. They all, after all, have made me what I am today. And so every word I write is them, too.