Some of you will know exactly what I mean by this, but when you set out to write and push an idea, you have no idea what you’re really doing. You just put words on a page and stuff comes out. The first draft is so trash. The second draft is make or break, either you have something or you don’t. You better be convinced yourself that a story’s sitting there, if you’re going to convince anyone else. The third draft, you spill blood over bits and pieces of writing that you really liked, but you know you can’t keep. The fourth draft is chiselling, bringing out what you meant to say in detail. And the fifth draft? I have no idea.
I just finished the fourth draft of my novel this morning. I don’t even know why I’m talking about this – writing is personal to me. It’s simply an act that’s mine. Why would I ever bother anyone else with it? Well, because I want this book to be read. It’s good. It’s unique. It just is. I’ve not felt this about anything I’ve ever written. I think I might have nailed it… what a strange feeling. A strange, awesome feeling. Could be I’m wrong and it’s garbage. But I don’t think so.
The book is called Girl Island. I’ll let your fancies float from the title.
Be well, everyone.