Creativity is, indeed, a fickle mistress
Though I was starting to have to fight down the doubts, it finally happened. The journey I began nearly ten months ago has finally reached the point I know, deep in my heart, I feared, and because of that fear, dragged it out far longer than I should have. But at last, I realized that I could put it off no longer. The novel whose first 50,000 words were penned in a marathon of writing, while working full-time, in November of last year, and was written entirely stream of consciousness, has now reached the end of the first editing; that in which I took my raw text and added, changed, smoothed out and embellished until the final product is over 98,000 words!
The end which is the beginning.
Yet, this is where the real fun begins. This is where I take the child to whom I gave life and send it out into the world to be analyzed, criticized, chewed up and spit out; all of this so I can make it even better before it goes through the marketing process I will be creating, the publishing process I have yet to determine, and the final approval or insult as the rest of the world sees this delicate creature which sprang, its sole purpose, to entertain strangers, from the very depths of my mind and heart.
It’s difficult to send our human children out into the world, knowing that they may stumble and fall, but knowing that we have prepared them to pick themselves up and go on. But a work of fiction has no such resources. It depends on its creator to see it through growing pains and criticism, both constructive and unkind, until it gains enough outside support to stand proudly on its own. We spend countless hours cleaning it up, dusting it off and gathering it close when the world withholds its simple, loving kindness. This unforgiving world which loves strength and perfection while reviling what is flawed and weak will not give this fledgling an easy ride. As the parent, I will feel every bruise as if it were my own. I will bleed my own blood over every cutting remark or cruel criticism leveled at my child.
Yet, we are strong together, and together will weather humanity’s storm. We will find our place amongst those who have come before us, who also suffered for their art, their creations, until able to make a place for themselves.
As I send my child out into the world, to undergo the editing process with both friend and stranger, I know in my heart that in the end, we will both be better for the process; a little older and a little wiser, perhaps, but better and stronger overall.
And so, I begin my search for people to participate in this necessary process. My eyes are foggy from being too close to the words I penned. I throw myself at the mercy of those who can be much more objective. May we produce the next story which will have the public clamoring for more!
So begins my search for editorial assistance. I know what I’ve written needs the fine tuning only unbiased, clear eyes can give. I have little to offer but the opportunity to read the story which, is still, virtually in the raw, though I will offer my services to do the same for others as well. I know that it truly does take a village to create and launch successful art.
My gratitudes tonight are:
1. I am grateful that I finally finished what I started.
2. I am grateful that I can now go on to some other projects while I go through the editing process.
3. I am grateful for those who never lost faith in my ability to see this one through.
4. I am grateful for a few days in which to shift gears and find my new direction before jumping in with both feet again.
5. I am grateful for abundance: creativity, determination, prosperity, health, friendship, humanity, harmony and love.
Namaste
