That Inner Voice, Redux
One thing I’ve noticed about writing my second book is that, because I’m not worrying about agents or publishers or the like, I can pretty much write how I want to write. I’ve sort of mentioned this before in a previous post, in a different context.
I’d like to expand a bit further, if that’s alright with you folks. When I look at my prose for the second book, it’s longer and more expansive than the first novel. I’m not second guessing myself as much this time around; there’s a carefree feeling when I write, as though I can actually enjoy the words as they are being produced on the page. I get a buzz from it, rather than a dread-feeling. The dread came, of course, from interminable self-critiques. This is a killer for a writer. You’ve heard it before probably, in some self-help writing books. I guess they got that one right.
When I look over my first book, I realize I was too reticent, too hesitant, too halting. Part of me wishes I could do the whole thing over again, but what’s done is done. You’ll notice that with many famous authors (and in no way am I comparing myself to them) their first books often seems hesitant, as if they are feeling their way around. And that’s probably true. A good analogue is a rock band’s or a composer’s first artistic effort. Most of the time it’s pretty raw because they haven’t mastered their craft yet. Probably the exception is Mozart, who was a boy-genius (though even his “childhood symphonies” are a little rough around the edges, one must admit).
But I guess that’s the point of the journey, as it were. You gotta take the ride, or you won’t get anywhere or learn anything new about the world.
