Thoughts on the Art of Writing (and Why My Book isn’t Done Yet)

In thinking, tonight, about the art of writing and the writers who inspire me, my thoughts stop at author and friend David James Poissant. His latest book Lake Life will be released next summer, a worthy labor that took him nine years to complete.

Nine years. That’s the thought that birthed this post. I still put too much pressure on myself to write consistently, whether on here or on my beloved typewriter, but it is a process nonetheless. Just like life.

There’s a saying in the writing world to “write what you know” (mostly said by high school teachers and college professors who ban genre fiction in the classroom). I say that to say this: I feel like my book would have—could have—been written already, or at least progressing, but I haven’t lived enough life yet. Great writing, usually, comes from living life and having a symphony of experiences both blissful and hard-hitting. I haven’t had enough experiences, I don’t think. So, how about this for a compromise: I’ll go live life, you live yours, and we’ll meet somewhere in the middle (with a published book in hand). Sound good?

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