For two years, I have been working on a first novel. In April, I took time off from life and hid out far from home and distractions and finished the first draft. Since then I have been editing and getting some professional input. There is, at last, light at the end of the tunnel.
In revising the work, I noticed that my writing/ storytelling abilities improved from the first chapters through what followed. It’s subtle, but there. And it makes me smile.
It means this old dog is learning new tricks after all. It means there’s hope for any writer to make his work better by investing the time and energy to make it so. It means that maybe, just maybe, I will produce a story that entertains, engages, intrigues the reader. It means, maybe, I can sell a book or two.
It means I can writer another book. In my head I am already three-quarters of the way done with the next plot. And the third is percolating there, awaiting its time. And the fourth.
I didn’t know I had it in me to write more than one novel. I’ve learned I do. And I want to.