“If one waits for the right time to come before writing, the right time never comes.”
- James Russell Lowell
I’m growing accustomed to the ebb and flow as I make my way through the first draft of my novel.
For several months the words flew out of my fingers, seemingly without effort, as though I were taking dictation. I was pleased by what I deemed to be progress as I topped the 100-page mark. My recent, somewhat glacier-paced efforts have served as a reminder that progress has different measurements, and it doesn’t always have to do with quantity.
While bashing on with it I’ve taken some comfort in remarks on First Draft I’ve picked up here and there. One of my favourites:
“Writing a first draft is like sandblasting using your forehead.” (Hemingway, I think)
Overheard: “Writing a first draft is like painting with your eyes closed – you don’t peek until the draft is done.”
And then there’s revision: “…like a sloth with a machete.” Wish I’d thought of that.
Ebb and flow, ebb and flow.
It’s time I put a bandaid on my forehead and got back to work.