Some time back I began working on a massive project that, once started, would consume many of my evenings and mornings. I knew it would require almost total and myopic concentration of effort . . . not a sprint, but a marathon. I would have to hydrate while I wrote this book, and there would be nights when I wouldn't sleep and mornings when I'd be working for a few hours before seeing the sun. I would be required to write 7-days a week and hours each day.
But eventually I'd reach the finish line. And I have. I am now the proud owner of more than 600 pages of manuscript. (But that's another blog entry.)
I don't know what's going to happen with this book. Thus far no publisher will touch it, and those editors who have heard my pitch usually walk away somber and downcast. They give me a Dr. Phil look and shake their heads. "What were you thinkin'?"
Time was, I used to write a 600 page manuscript just to practice writing books. I'd hole up for hours at a time, whip out fifty pages a day, and see if I could at least write a first draft of a book in a week. It was like a steel cage death match with paper.
But now that I'm older and wiser (or perhaps Dumb & Dumber), I at least try to temper my writing with a contract or a commitment from some unsuspecting editor. It's been a long time since I wrote anything this BIG without a contract, but I'll see what happens to the 600 pages.
At least it's done. Now I can move on to some shorter projects I've got on tap. Essays, stories, poems, love letters in the sand.
It will be some time, I think, before I tackle anything this BIG again. I just pray I find a home for it. Lord knows, this monster can't live with me.
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