I have come down with a cold. I am stuffy and sweaty and generally miserable.
I myself have not heard back from my dad's friend, but my dad has. My dad reports that his friend pronounced me a good writer, very descriptive, and he wants to read more of my stuff. However, he did mention to my dad that my writing didn't flow as well as it could.
I wanted to know if it was my sentence/paragraph structure that's blocky or if it's the progression of ideas/events that isn't flowing, but Dad wasn't sure. So I keep waiting to hear back from the guy himself.
It makes me wonder if I should entirely scrap that whole beginning. The first two chapters are what remains of the original, unfinished short story that I wrote about ten years ago.
They are by far the most rewritten section of the entire story, but I do see what he means; it remains somewhat choppy.
Normally, I believe I do write smoothly, or at least, I've gotten that feedback from my editor friend. So I know that I can do it.
Maybe I should set those two chapters aside and completely rethink the entire beginning. It would then require me to go back through the entire story and change a great deal of dialogue, but that prospect isn't as frightening as it used to be.
Writing is such deceptively hard work. It looks easy, because all one is doing is sitting. For hours. However, you have to have so many things functioning.
A person must have a basic understanding of grammar and sentence structure, in order to articulate their ideas. They must have the vocabulary to illustrate them. They must have the ability to analyze how effectively they are accomplishing this. This is all the left brain function.
In addition, a writer must also have ideas, interesting, original ideas, and they must have the creative ability to bring those ideas to life within the words. They must, at some point, be able to see the story as a whole, to grasp the theme or vision of the entire story. That is the right brain function.
Oh, but how rewarding it is! How delightful. Sometimes the sheer joy of what I am doing causes me to shiver.
I just don't want to work this hard on something and have it go nowhere. How bitter it would be if, after everything is said and done, I am just not good enough?
Oh well. I'll just carry on, keeping in mind that the worst case scenario is me in my little room at the nursing home, having nothing but rejection slips, but also, a lovely character to show for it.
Anyway, surely by the time I'm sixty, I'll be able to write something wonderful.
