Does writing ever feel like this?
Sometimes mine does.
As I've mentioned, I'm revising my second novel (1855) right now.
The first chapters were heavy going, as I rearranged my mental map of the plot.
But when it feels like I'm hauling a ton of concrete every time I sit down at the computer, here's what's really happening:
Writing is hard work. Preparing the ground for a story sometimes feels like an endless drag, pushing that iron spike through the soil by force, constantly struggling to keep those horses in line. Sometimes the plow jumps the furrow and starts plowing the wrong track, and I have to go back and start that pass again.
But I've now revised eight chapters of this 1855 novel. That's eighty pages. My writerly intuition tells me that my plowing is finished. Here comes Sunday.
I get to put away the draft horses and get dressed in my nice clothes.
Time to take the fancy horses for a spin.
I usually find that somewhere between chapters five and ten, the real fun starts. The world of the novel has become solid, and I no longer need the heavy draft horses of analysis, character building, and structural thinking. The lighter, faster steeds of the imagination get to harness up for a race through the park.
Is this how it works for you? Is there a point when it gets easier? Or do you start with the fast fun horses, and switch to the draft haulers later?
This post is dedicated to Charmaine, because of her love for extended writing analogies. :-)