“The process of writing books is somewhat akin to a very long police interrogation in which the detective leans over the table littered with the butt ends of cigarettes and cold coffee in Styrofoam cups and says for the 87th time, “Now let’s go over this again.” It is a study in repetition, the ability to read the same page, paragraph, sentence until it could be recited backward and in French in hopes of figuring out which detail is missing, which idea is false. What my days lack in being touched by the muse they make up for in the steady picking of the miner’s ax, chipping out a tunnel that may well lead to nowhere.”
Yeah, it’s like that…
But it all culminates in that moment when I read a scene and I’m on the edge of my seat, waiting for what happens next–and I KNOW what happens. That’s when I know I did the very best I could, and the book is ready to be shared with others.
