I once thought that novelists sequestered themselves in their offices (preferably with a roll-down desk with an old-fashioned typewriter), spent a few months relentlessly typing their manuscripts, and then just before succumbing to exhaustion delivered the priceless sheets of paper in a pristine white box to their eager editors.
Instead I write wherever space and time allows—on my kitchen table, at Starbucks, a diner—and though I prefer my laptop, I’ve written scenes on post-its while at work before. And that whole thing about sending a draft to an eagerly waiting editor? Uh, no. It’s more like sending a chapter or two to my critique group or submitting the first chapter for critiques by professionals, followed by intense rewriting. And then more critiques followed by more rewriting.
And I’m personally glad that writing isn’t the solitary activity I once thought it was. Novel writing is a stressful task, and I’m glad to have support not only from my husband and friends and family, but also from people who are going through the same stresses as I am. There are things I can discuss with my writer friends that I know non-writers just won’t understand. And when it comes to celebrating the successes or getting past a rejection, there’s nothing like drinking a glass of wine with other writers who know just what to say and what not to say.
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