Geek Glee
"At this rate, I shall not pity the writers of history any longer. If people like to read their books, it is all very well, but to be at so much trouble filling great volumes, which, as I used to think, nobody would willingly ever look into, to be labouring only for the torment of little boys and girls, always struck me as a hard fate."
--Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey
"Geez, you're writing another book? Why? There's already too many books in the world--can't people just read the old ones?"
--A Smith Relative, mid 1980s
Few of us get much respect for our daily labors, but I figured non-famous and caressed writers* who stop by here might get an empathetic thrill when I mention the intense joy--the very intense joy--of of finding the threads connecting up at last, after months and months of overlapping rewrites.
What creatures we are, to get so excited over people who never existed in this world, and situations that could never happen. Yet I shiver with secret glee as I motor about on mundane errands for other people. And getting back to my desk, despite the murderous heat and the air full of ash, makes me sigh with pleasure and anticipation.
I have no idea if any of it will make it to the magic bridge between me and the reader. But oh, after pretty close to a year of hard work on this project (and many years of work on the project overall), I am seeing my way to the end. And there are very few joys greater.
Nobody has to comment about my project--probably 95% of those cruising by who's read this far have no idea what I'm talking about. But if you'd like to share a nifty payoff moment, here's the place. I'll cheer for you.
*the famous and caressed wouldn't read here anyway
--Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey
"Geez, you're writing another book? Why? There's already too many books in the world--can't people just read the old ones?"
--A Smith Relative, mid 1980s
Few of us get much respect for our daily labors, but I figured non-famous and caressed writers* who stop by here might get an empathetic thrill when I mention the intense joy--the very intense joy--of of finding the threads connecting up at last, after months and months of overlapping rewrites.
What creatures we are, to get so excited over people who never existed in this world, and situations that could never happen. Yet I shiver with secret glee as I motor about on mundane errands for other people. And getting back to my desk, despite the murderous heat and the air full of ash, makes me sigh with pleasure and anticipation.
I have no idea if any of it will make it to the magic bridge between me and the reader. But oh, after pretty close to a year of hard work on this project (and many years of work on the project overall), I am seeing my way to the end. And there are very few joys greater.
Nobody has to comment about my project--probably 95% of those cruising by who's read this far have no idea what I'm talking about. But if you'd like to share a nifty payoff moment, here's the place. I'll cheer for you.
*the famous and caressed wouldn't read here anyway