My Novel Writing Struggles

Whomever said this wasn’t easy, wasn’t lying

For the past year-and-a-half, I’ve been working on a novel. Hold your applause till the end.

Or maybe it is more correct to say “working” on a “novel”. The “Great Canadian Novel” I would tell myself in the mirror each morning until my reflection starting calling in sick either from the repetition or the high frequency of air quotes.

Like most new projects or New Year’s resolutions, I got off to a fast start full of gusto, gumption and best intentions. Nothing could stop me as the ideas ran rampant in my head. If it helps, imagine some loose change inside a fairly non-descript bucket. If that actually helps…I’m not sure how to finish this sentence, so let’s continue.

Each day I would rise, race downstairs with the energy of either a much younger man or a man exactly my age who thinks they are tricking everyone when we all know about the imported fibre that he slides into his high fibre muffins. Great ideas about the characters and the plot and all of those aspects of a novel that are neither characters nor plot yet still seem worthwhile, flowed out of me like blood yet also quite unlike blood I realized upon cutting myself with a cheese grater when all I wanted was to feel something (and eat some cheese in grated form).

I was like a runaway train or just a regular train whose staff did a significantly better job when it came to balancing the speed with which to get to the next station with the equally important safety regulations that the first train’s staff gleefully ignored. One chapter led to another which led to another and so on.

“This book is going to write itself” I proudly proclaimed to my wife and kids who were either practicing the ancient Japanese art of not moving and remaining impartial or they had been cardboard cutouts this entire time (which would go a long way’s toward explaining a few things).

But, like many things that start quickly and then slow down including, but not limited to: balls rolling down hills, hairs growing on my chin and balls being rolled on my chin to attempt to promote hair growth so I don’t look like a 14 year old boy, the momentum for novel writing couldn’t be maintained. I climbed to the top of a nearby hill and…

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