It’s been a few weeks since I last blogged, but that is actually a good sign. I’ve been putting my writing energy almost completely into my book in progress. What is still very difficult is that it’s so slow…a drip, drip, drip rather than a steady flow. And as soon as I start thinking about how excruciatingly LONG it will take to actually finish a draft of this thing, that’s when self-consciousness chokes off the flow completely . Sigh.
Last night I finished reading WE ARE NOT OURSELVES by Matthew Thomas. The book swept me up in it’s empathetic storytelling, doling out the story of Eileen Leary over many decades. It’s amazing how a novelist can do that — present you with someone to care about, to root for, as if they are someone you know personally.
It’s both inspiring to me to read such a good book, and overwhelming. I’m genuinely awed by the almost magical way a writer can conjure up another world; and there’s still a big part of me that thinks, “How did they DO that??”