Writing a Book

As I approach the end of my second manuscript I’ve found myself reflecting on the enormity of writing a whole book.  It’s not a small task.  How have I managed it?  I find myself asking.

Writing is an art of patience.  You need the patience to commit tens of thousands of words to paper without always having a clear end-point in sight.  You need the patience to edit and re-write a sentence three, four times, sometimes 5, 10, 20 times.  You need the patience to do this with the thousands of sentences that make up your story.  I’m not known as a man of great patience, how have I managed it?

I love writing, most mornings I wake up itching to write.  My poor family find me away, lost in thought about a particular plot twist, piece of dialogue or descriptive passage when I’m meant to be building a tower with my son or talking over the dinner table.  I guess without this in-built love, I couldn’t do it.  So I’m thankful for it.

Please note that I don’t write this to blow my own trumpet, but the collective trumpets of everyone who’s written / is writing a whole book.  Bravo and keep going.


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