As regular readers have noticed, the blogging is slooooow at the moment. Slow. Because I’m deep into the new book and it’s hard to work on it and muster the creative energy necessary for the blog.
Truth be told, I’ve finally landed in the place I always know I’ll find (and that I’m guessing every writer lives for): The moment when frustration and confusion give way to clarity; when interest and attraction become . . . passion.
This is my fourth book and it’s always like this. I come up with the book idea. Think it through. Decide it’s viable. Spend months and months and months (and yes, it takes that long) wading through (literally) millions of words of primary and secondary materials, teaching myself the basics of the topic.
Next comes the getting-off-the-ground process: An even longer slog in which I gather unto myself my newly accumlated knowledge and begin writing.
Or try to. “Slog” hardly describes it. Trying to match that research to words is, at first, like wandering through the murkiest, most pestilential, swampiest swamp imaginable. The journey makes the hobbits’ trek in Lord of the Rings seem like a backyard romp. I wonder if I’ll ever find the other side. Wonder if I’ll ever make sense of the material.
And then . . . Finally!
The moment I long for (and, truth be told, know will come eventually): I reach the edge of the swamp. I understand the research. I’ve found my “characters” (because although it’s non-fiction, I’m dealing with human beings). I know my theme and my argument.
What had been a getting-to-know-you series of dates turns into all-consuming passion and I’m hooked. No. I’m intoxicated and all I want to do is write so that I can tell the rest of the world about this amazing piece of human history.
So. At the moment, I’m . . . in love. Devoured by my “work.” And blogging is slow.
Wait. “Work”? This is . . . work? Give me more!