I’ve reached the middle of the book. The muddy, muddled, mucking-about middle. I’m not particularly cheerful. (This is the point where I will start making drama in the world to save me from trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing with the book.) What I know, after doing this so many times, is that this is a normal stage, if not a particularly pleasant one.
That flashy, dazzling, Venus flytrap of the beginning is a long way back there now. And the giddy, shaky pleasure/relief of the end is still way, way ahead. There is just now, slogging away, trying to believe that it will be a book.
This is hard on writers, and it’s hard to explain to others how it feels to be a creative person in progress. There’s no product, and there won’t be for a long time.
So, last night, I baked a chocolate torte from scratch. Five simple ingredients. Many satisfying steps. Really excellent cake, which I’m trying to ignore.
The small goals of running a little longer each each week, of actually going to my yoga class every Tuesday and not just doing some work at home, also help me get through this stage. The massage therapist asked me if I was shoveling a lot of snow, which made me feel buff.
And artist dates. Just getting out and breathing air is good. Hikes feel like an accomplishment, but everything is still very icy, and promises to be worse after this weekend.
And well…a blog is a finished thing, too.
Now, off to the muddy middle…..