For the past three days, I have not written into the draft of my novel. I have, instead, sat quietly and written what I call “listening notes” based on what I’ve written and what is simply coming to mind. Just thoughts and ideas. Details and pieces. Everything that is being born out of simply listening to the story as it comes to me, from the characters themselves. Keep reading, I’ll explain.

I’ve given myself four months to get the first draft of my novel completed, and it has been quite the learning experience, not only for me as a writer, but as a being. Putting that clock/calendar on my head was supposed to serve the purpose of having a deadline, which I am still holding onto, but with more flexibility. Im flexing time for quality.

Since I first begin writing this novel a few years ago, I have had many, many false starts. Great ideas turned to good ideas turned to a word-count that lacked substance and story. So naturally, knowing myself, I know that lighting a fire under my writing to get it done by a deadline would make me…write. But then, writing is not my problem. Losing myself and my writing in ideas and the romance of finishing the book got me back at the the starting over line time and time again. Like baking a cake, who has an interest in putting all the ingredients together popping it into the oven for five minutes and taking it back out and starting all over again at the mixing bowl. It takes time to get to completion. {Continue Reading...}