If you’ve been reading my blog regularly, you know I’ve mentioned I’m writing a book. In fact, I’ve been working on it for five years. I can’t believe how long it’s been. Because I got off to such an amazing start. I had a synopsis and a chapter by chapter outline done in less than a day. A query letter in a couple of hours.
I had my first chapter finished in less than a week. On a ten-day holiday in Bequia, visiting friends, I wrote two more. Before I knew it, I’d completed another couple. All while I was working full time, running an ad agency.
My alarm was set for 6:00 a.m.; and I’d get a couple of hours in, before heading to the office. Instead of going out for lunch I’d eat at my desk, and write. Nights and weekends were spent in front of my computer. I was waking up in the middle of the night with sentences and paragraphs forming in my mind. I became an expert at writing in the dark.
It was like someone had turned on a tap. Except instead of gushing water, it was words, literally pouring out of me. Then I hit the wall. Suddenly. Instead of starting the next chapter, I kept re-reading everything I’d already done. Editing it. Refining it. Making changes. Polishing. Everyday I’d wake up and say “Today, I’m going to at least get started on this chapter.” And I never did.
Six months into it, it hit me. I figured it out.
The book is about my mother. And although I do share a lot of different memories, the book is primarily about the journey she Continue reading