248,896 words.
At the end of June 2023, I had finished the first draft of a book I was writing. It was a something I poured myself intensely for over a year. I had a story to write and had to get it out.
I was committed to it. I had written nearly 250,000 words. Before I started to write, I commissioned an amazing artist to draw the cover. I stocked on heaps of coffee. I woke up at 5:00 AM and wrote often to 10:00 AM each day without fail. Though I had never taken up such an intense writing project, it flowed.
I even had lined up an excellent editor that I had found online. The book itself was divided in 4 parts. I submitted the first part to my editor in June just before I left overseas. When I got back in August I began to tackle the editing changes. In October I submitted the 2nd section to the editor. I got review back in November.
The feedback was tough, but fair. I live in bubble (none of my friends are writers) so honest feedback was what I needed. Despite some significant changes I felt all were doable.
Nothing was insurmountable. It would be a lot of work, maybe more logic intense than creative, but not a problem. I had an outline and timeline. I was organised and determined. I would start redrafting again Boxing Day 2023 and carry on into February and get it back to my editor.
In fact, I started to write well before December. I followed my editor's advice and augmented some backstories, and I was pretty happy with the changes. But after about 3,000 new words, it all fell flat.
I just couldn't write anymore.
I was happy to grit my teeth and carry on. But something told me to stop. There is obvious to look back and say I couldn't stop now. The path to the end would be hard, but well within sight. But I just couldn't do it anymore.
After a frustrating December, and lackadaisical January, I discovered that all the work I had put into project, was in fact leading to something very different. Perhaps something I would have never discovered had not started on this writing venture.
I found a pivot.
I was committed to it. I had written nearly 250,000 words. Before I started to write, I commissioned an amazing artist to draw the cover. I stocked on heaps of coffee. I woke up at 5:00 AM and wrote often to 10:00 AM each day without fail. Though I had never taken up such an intense writing project, it flowed.
I even had lined up an excellent editor that I had found online. The book itself was divided in 4 parts. I submitted the first part to my editor in June just before I left overseas. When I got back in August I began to tackle the editing changes. In October I submitted the 2nd section to the editor. I got review back in November.
The feedback was tough, but fair. I live in bubble (none of my friends are writers) so honest feedback was what I needed. Despite some significant changes I felt all were doable.
Nothing was insurmountable. It would be a lot of work, maybe more logic intense than creative, but not a problem. I had an outline and timeline. I was organised and determined. I would start redrafting again Boxing Day 2023 and carry on into February and get it back to my editor.
In fact, I started to write well before December. I followed my editor's advice and augmented some backstories, and I was pretty happy with the changes. But after about 3,000 new words, it all fell flat.
I just couldn't write anymore.
I was happy to grit my teeth and carry on. But something told me to stop. There is obvious to look back and say I couldn't stop now. The path to the end would be hard, but well within sight. But I just couldn't do it anymore.
After a frustrating December, and lackadaisical January, I discovered that all the work I had put into project, was in fact leading to something very different. Perhaps something I would have never discovered had not started on this writing venture.
I found a pivot.