Thursday, June 08, 2006
I always had this dream that someday I'd write full-time. I imagined myself renting out a little office somewhere. I saw myself getting up in the mornings and going to my "office" to work on a novel or some short story.
Well, I'd been taking my laptop and going to the library. I'd sit among all those books. There's something about that environment that is so inspiring. (Writing at home hasn't been all that productive, because all I can think of is that someday I should pick up all those clothes strewn on the floor.) I'm writing in the library and thinking, you know, what's stopping me from using this library as my "office." And I don't have to pay rent!
I'm telling you there's magic in a library. Surrounded by all those stories, you can't help but want to write your own.
I'd been dragging my feet on fine-tuning the pages of my third novel. (I'm up to page 89!) In the library, with all that quiet, I found the courage to flesh out the first two chapters. I knew the pages were rough, but with the rewrites, they felt more whole. I had a physical reaction to it. My shoulders relaxed and I felt like I had saved a baby from drowning.