goofy realization

I hit a wall recently in the revision. I couldn’t continue until I figured out what was bothering me, so I backtracked to the beginning of the current chapter and began reading.

Oh wow . . .

To say that I was stunned by what I was reading is an understatement. As goofy as this sounds, I loved what I was reading.The character’s voice was unbelievably strong and the story just drew me in. If this had been written by someone else, I would’ve set the book down and googled the author to find out what else she’d written.

The realization that I’d written this stunned me. I felt equally delighted and sheepish. The more I write, the more confidant I become. You’ve got to have some faith in yourself to make a go at the writing thing, and while I’m delighted at how far I’ve come, I can’t wait to get even further.

At the same time, it still seems egotistical to say “I’m good,” because something I write may not be good, and I don’t want to blind myself from spotting it.

After a quick e-mail to the crit group, I learned that I was not alone in occasionally being drawn in to my own writing. They all had experienced that pleasant delight with one or more of their books (my favorite being the one who admitted that one of her stories still made her cry).

Between e-mails, I continued reading the chapter. Halfway through, I found the wall standing between me and continuing: a half page of brooding that, while tense, briefly took the story on a tangent.

I cut and pasted it into the “keep for later” file, on the off chance I ever need it, and then continued reading.

Oh wow.

Good story. Great character. I can’t wait to get even further.