It’s November which means I’ve been working on my novel for a year, ever since I had an inkling of an idea for NaNoWriMo last year. One year of sprints and stumbling, false starts and about faces. I’m inching my way through my first rewrite which has been slow going as I work out problems with my initial plot, adding and subtracting entire chapters and spending a significant amount of time spinning my wheels.
I’m told that all of this is normal, part of the process. I’ve met writers who have been worked no on the same story for five years or more. I sat in a lecture listening to a published writer talk about his process which involved twelve complete rewrites. That is not a typo. Twelve.
This makes me feel both better and worse. It means I’m moving along at a typical pace but I may be only at the beginning of a very long journey.