I'm scared. Oh, I know I'm not supposed to be, but I am. You see, I finished a semester of classes at the end of May. Took a few days off and then began requested changes on a manuscript, sent it off on June 4 and then began making requested changes on another manuscript, which I sent off this past Wednesday.
I've been in constant revision mode for almost two years. Although I've been rewriting and adding scenes to my manuscripts, I haven't actually written anything new. And now it's time! Yes, it's time. I have several stories that are in different stages. Some in the plotting stage, some halfway through and others that are complete but need major revisions. I thought about working on one of the completes, but I know in my heart that I need to be writing something new.
Well, sort of. I have a story sitting under 35k. It's a story God put on my heart, much like my other stories, but I also know that out of all my stories, this one, even though it's fun to write, will be the toughest to write because the subject matter doesn't fit within the Christian Book Association (CBA) guidelines, which means somehow I've got to find a way to make it work.
Because I know me, I have to finish the story the way I originally visioned. And pour a lot of prayer over it, but that doesn't mean I'm not a little scare, and yes somewhat excited, at the prospect of finishing this story. What if it's not fixable once it's finished? What if there are plot holes I can't fix? I what if my writing well has run dry?
I think those are pretty typical questions many writers ask themselves. And although we have moments of doubt, when we hand our words to God, He's always faithful to smooth away the doubt and offer encouragement.
Here's an excerpt from my Kansas prairie rough draft:
Hezekiah
straightened to her full height, surprised that the Reverend hadn't taken
notice of Aunt Gussie's dramatic display. Somewhere in the back of her mind,
Hezekiah heard the creaking sound of the Parry Bros. Mercantile doors, but she
stood staring at the stiff posture and grim lines etched in the reverend's
face. Something wasn't right. And it wasn’t just Reverend Carver’s demeanor.
Something was definitely amiss. Yet, for the breath of her she couldn't quite
figure it out.
“Do you suppose he knows it's Sunday?”
Uncle Earl repeated Gussie's question as he moved between them. Hezekiah
glanced at her uncle. Haloed smoke rings floated into the air as he puffed on
his cigar.
“Really, Earl,” Gussie chastised as she
waved at the swirls of smoke. “It is Sunday.”
He drew on the end, brightening the tip
into a slow kindle with a mischievous glint in his eye. A gust of wind drew the
sweet tobacco toward Hezekiah, tugged at her bonnet, and freed a few wayward
curls. She tucked them back into place before Gussie pecked at her disheveled
appearance.
“But does he know it’s Sunday?”
“I really wish you'd halt that offensive
habit.” Gussie waved her hand in front of her nose. “Especially on the Lord’s
Day, Earl.”
True to form, Earl complied with his wife's
wishes, although Hezekiah knew the disagreement would return in seven day’s
time.
“Someone really ought to tell the poor lad
that the post won't come until Tuesday.”
Hezekiah swung her gaze to Uncle Earl and
then back to the platform. How had she not realized the reverend was anxiously
awaiting for a post that would not arrive for two more days?
