When I set a goal for myself back in January to write four novels this year, I had no idea that a bizarre pandemic would grip the world, changing the everyday life I took for granted. Or that I'd say goodbye to my job, sell our condo, and move two thousand miles away so that my wife and I could live near my aging in-laws. Or that I'd see cities across the country rocked by so much violence, hatred, and stupidity. (Who's up for a second civil war? Not me.)
Despite all of the distractions, stressors, and resultant anxiety, I've managed to carve out time (almost) every day to write. That's how I've met my goal so far: three novels drafted in nine months. My first quarter novel has undergone final edits and is with my publisher, ready to go. My second and third novels are in need of revisions; but since they're in a trilogy and the first book is currently with my editor, I'll wait to polish them up until we get book 1 in the best shape possible.
Writing takes a lot of concentration, and this year I've found that to be my greatest struggle. I've had to let go of my perfectionist tendencies. Drafts are sloppy copies; they're not supposed to be amazing. But having a complete draft is so much better than just a vague idea for a novel or a few pages of notes. And often the best writing shows up during the rewriting phase.
This year has been a crazy one. If it wasn't for my faith in God, the love of my wonderful wife, and this creative outlet, I'm not sure where I would be mentally right now. I'm really looking forward to drafting my next novel, and I can't wait to see what it's about. Sloppy copy #4, let's go!
