Today I’m back from a week in the mountains, where I wrote for 2 or 3 hours every day, went on long hikes and read. A retreat I had planned all summer, hoping to finish revising the novel I’ve been working on for years.
What happened with the writing:
I found plot holes and plugged them.
I tied up loose ends in the story.
I found ways to make the main character’s actions believable.
I didn’t finish.
I figured out how to make the story better, which means:
I have about 25% more of the novel to draft, then revise. I have been writing long enough to know that means more than one revision.
The good news:
My story is really fun to write and spending so much time on it makes me eager to keep going.
After months of struggle, it’s all coming together.
I know exactly what to do to “bring everybody home,” which means all major characters reach a satisfying conclusion.
Now I’m back in my regular world where:
Laundry must be washed, dried and put away
Phone calls and email messages need replies
I need to get some exercise today
But I’m tired, physically, mentally, even emotionally. The end of things, even a vacation writing retreat in the beautiful mountains, always makes me a little sad. And writing, even when it’s fun and good and rewarding, makes me tired.
The weather is gloomy now, which doesn’t help. So I’ll put off the to-do list for later. First, I’ll curl up with a good book I started this week: The Art Forger by B.A. Shapiro. And maybe I’ll take a nice little nap.
Why not? Do you need a “good reason” to rest besides being just plain tired?
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