Okay, I know it’s only been four days since I made my resolution to write every day, but so far, I have–I’ve actually been doing it. I’ve sat, butt-in-chair, for two to three hours each day this week, and my only gripe at this point is that it’s hard to tear myself away because the work is going so well. I should have done this months ago!

I am so into the rhythm of my book right now, that sometimes I come out of it and don’t recognize the life around me for a few minutes; it feels strange and foreign.

I finally feel like it’s coming together, the way I always wanted it to. I thought I was finished with it, and sent it off for all kinds of submissions. I did, in fact, get a few tantalizing nibbles of interest here and there, but nothing more (and what’s worse, no constructive feedback to work with from anyone who rejected it).

I think that was what was probably blocking me, was feeling like I didn’t really know in what direction to take the book next, since there wasn’t any feedback from the “professionals” out there. The readers I’d already had go over it for me had nothing but praise for it (and given that they’re editors themselves, I took them at their word).

So all the while that I wasn’t actively revising it, the book sat in the back of my mind, stewing, fermenting. I think the break from it was good, because there was so much more to the story than even I’d realized; I feel like I’m only just now starting to see all the different layers of it that I’d been missing, and I love peeling them back, one by one, to see what’s coming next. It’s a really cool process which no normal human is likely to understand, so just take my word for it.

Unfortunately, the proof is in the pudding (or in this case, in a written contract) in the writing business. Even my very own daughter yesterday informed me that she’d told her friends that I wasn’t a writer yet–ouch. I said, “What do you mean I’m not a writer? I write, I get paid to do so–doesn’t that make me a writer?”

She shook her head disparagingly. “Mom, you’re not a writer until your novel gets published. When are you going to do that?”

Ouch again. Good question, indeed–when am I going to do that? Not sure if this was wisdom coming from the mouth of my babe, or if she was just ticked off with me because I left her hanging when I took a break after Chapter Four of the youth novel I’ve been writing for her.

I can see where one might be annoyed by waiting too long for a cliffhanger to be resolved, but wish she wouldn’t take it out on my poor, battered self-esteem. (Writers spend too much time alone–it’s really easy to beat up their psyches.)

So, I’ve got about half an hour left before the kids get home. I already put in my two hours on the novel revision, so now, I’m going to try to placate the world’s harshest critic (my daughter) and see if I can’t get her back down off the cliff where I left her four months ago when I stopped work on her book.

A little bribery never hurts…