The biggest problem I can imagine in the world is this:
I have come upon my particular novel, which I am codenaming “Big Pete” for the purposes of this blog, with a purpose I haven’t had in any of my other projects. I have enlisted friends and I have sat down and talked the plot out with them. I have made notes. Gads of notes. And then it occurs to me-
I need to just WRITE.
The size of the project intimidated me so damned much that Big Pete has become this monster, Moby Dick-sized nightmare that I am not sure I can tackle. And the funny part? I am blowing the size of this thing way out of proportion. I’m trying to write a fantasy novel, not give birth to a litter of puppies or climb Everest! It’s a novel! I created it! And my own insecurity is making mountains out of molehills. This isn’t Shakespeare, this is my own creative process, and the size of the project is giving me the screaming willies enough to make me hammer about with this thing on notes and discussions and such-
Where does the actual writing come in?
So I resolved tonight to sit down and come up with the first few words of the book. The book, I decided, had an intro page and I am going to come up with that tonight. I have the idea/layout for the first eight chapters, and I shall tackle those as well. But tonight, I will put down the intro at least, or forever be a horse’s ass about this. It’s just a few words-
So why is this so damn hard?!