My writing life is like playing the piano. Striking the right keys at the right time produces sentences that provide music for you, the reader. What happens when that music appears more like scratching on a chalk board? There are times when I feel sea sick trying to find the rhythm when the notes are choppy and out of place. That's what editing and rewriting is all about, especially for independent writers like me who lack experienced professionals to coach them through troubled waters.
My next piece is turning into a rhapsody – irregular music without a formal structure that produces powerful feelings and emotional excitement. No longer am I forcing the notes. Instead, I'm allowing my mind to wander far outside my comfort zone. It's a scary place. A piano has only 8 keys that are repeated in octaves. There are keys on my laptop that are still a mystery to me and one day I may actually figure them out if I don't toss my laptop in the trash and walk away in frustration.
The reality of my calling is much simpler than I visualize. I'm overthinking the sheet music. I need to get more primitive. The noise of all things processed in our modern world is distracting me and that's probably causing the sea sickness. I'm warning you about my current project. When I shared it with my inanimate friend and cohort, Wilson, the look on his face revealed I'm not where I need to be yet. The pages were worth more as kindling for a campfire than something to be shared with the world. I do promise to remain on Mulligan's island with Wilson until this book is complete. The only thing I know for sure is that I'm going to be here a while. Thanks for your patience. Have a great day.
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