By most estimations, I’ve written a lot. I have a series of 9 books completed (Shadow Gods). I also have another series of 5, 4 of which are complete (Stone Vengeance). And I have nearly 200 written ‘thoughts’ which I’ve combined into a contemplative book dealing with life, emotions, our existence, and God, yet I see this as only the beginning. In reality, I’ve started two other books which I plan to use to challenge myself with, to express myself in two separate directions completely out of my norm. Whether either of these books become a success or not, I do not know since none of my writing has yet to be published. For me, however, that is no longer the point.
Recently, I’ve been in contact with a very old friend who I knew back in grade school and she has challenged me to write a ‘great american novel’. I have thought about this for a few days now and have decided to accept this challenge, though I have yet to choose a storyline. I, however, do not do this for her sake, but rather for my own. In all my previous writings, I have done what is comfortable for me, following a genre’ that suits my mind which has never been monumental by any means. This new task, which I’ve set upon myself, is daunting. It suggest I need to be careful with my words, paint clearer pictures, be true to a theme in all aspects, and have a plan. This last item, a plan, is something that I have yet to do with any of my writing. In essence, I ‘wing it’ when it come to who, what, where, and how the story develops. Granted, I have a general scope of how the story should end, but how that end is reached is something I’ve never planned for more than a few chapters at a time. To complete this ‘great american novel’ I will have to be different and it scares me.
There is another reason why I’ve chosen to do this, however. That reason belongs to my friend. To begin with, when she discovered I like to write, she requested that I send her something since she is a prolific reader. I did and, since we didn’t really know each other after 30 years of none contact, I asked for her honest opinion on my writing. What I received was not pleasant praise, but rather a harshness I came to respect because it was the truth. She apologized for her responses, but I reminded her that 1) I asked for her opinion and 2) you lie to friends – not to people you don’t know, so I received what I had requested from her. Moreover, I respected it for the simple reason that I didn’t want my ‘crap’ to be praised if it was indeed ‘crap’. Of course, she said it wasn’t complete crap, but she was disappointed. I asked her why and the response I got made up my mind. In her own words, she said she was disappointed because she knew I could do better.
It is for this reason I set before myself a goal that I will probably never obtain because it is no longer about the quantity I’ve written, but rather about the quality of my next book. Wish me luck.
Thank you, Rose.
