As I’ve mentioned before, for the past few months I’ve been at work on my novella, working to make it better, wanting it to live. I’ve read and reread the manuscript. I’ve made a tweak here and a tweak there. I’ve scrapped entire sections because the writing didn’t hold up. I’ve lived with these characters for months — celebrating their joy, grieving their loss. I’ve reached the point where the manuscript has come full circle. No more tweaking. No more changes. Simply time for the manuscript to rest.
What next? That’s the question I’m asking myself. It feels great to have finished something, to see that the work has come together. Yet at the same time I feel “lost.” So my challenge is to keep writing … to begin something new.
It’s a cool, gray day. There are few traces left of winter. By this afternoon the rain will fall again, renewing the soil, nurturing the soul. Perhaps today I will let myself rest, and wake up tomorrow with a soul that has been tended to, and the courage to begin again.
What next? That’s the question I’m asking myself. It feels great to have finished something, to see that the work has come together. Yet at the same time I feel “lost.” So my challenge is to keep writing … to begin something new.
It’s a cool, gray day. There are few traces left of winter. By this afternoon the rain will fall again, renewing the soil, nurturing the soul. Perhaps today I will let myself rest, and wake up tomorrow with a soul that has been tended to, and the courage to begin again.
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