In my neighborhood, there is a cursed place. Today, that location is a new sushi restaurant. Before that? A Burger Factory. Before that? A forgotten string of failures. A new renter arrives with fresh ideas and colossal hope. After a year or two, another restaurateur takes up the challenge and shoulders the curse. Why anyone invests all their life savings in a restaurant is a mystery to most. To anyone who does not share the dream of making unappreciated food for an oblivious public, it is madness.
I would never invest in a restaurant, but I understand the passion for the risk.
Some clods don’t think writing a book is “real work.” They devalue the effort and call it a hobby. Some even want it all for free. It’s just typing, after all, right? Hell, in weak and depressed moments, I’ve called it an expensive hobby! When a reviewer says, “I don’t understand why this book isn’t a bestseller,” all I can say is, “Me, neither, man.”
And how many people really have the time, energy, and attention span to read anymore? Is this really a job or a fairly pointless compulsion? What kind of fool wasted months or years to compose a novel?
Here, I raise my hand. I’m that kind of fool. I don’t know if my next book will be a smash hit, but I enter into every story with that same hope. It’s madness, really.
A peek into how my workday began
After only a few hours of sleep, I think I woke up around 3:30 a.m. I lay in bed with wild thoughts about Where The Night Takes Us. The manuscript needed an extra kick to get the grand seduction going. It’s a dance to draw readers in, and the steps were not quite right yet. I deleted a chapter yesterday to speed up the pacing. I added something crucial to the beginning yesterday, too. Satisfaction eluded me. What else would make the recipe sweeter?
Gave up on sleep at 4 a.m.
The nagging sense that I’d lose some sugar made me crawl out of bed and to my laptop. More words, particular and well-chosen, had to get written before I could lose the thread. I had to sew some seams and make the presentation more appetizing. Perfection is always out of reach, but at least I can make it more right.
Officially, Where The Night Takes Us will be my thirtieth novel. I’ve been here before. The energy behind the compulsion to get it published is always the same. Years ago, a novelist’s house caught fire. He braved the flames to reenter the burning building to save his manuscript. I get it, but it’s madness, isn’t it?
Anyway, I caught the words before they could slip away. If this is a curse, I must enjoy it. When the manuscript is fully baked and out of the oven, I hope you’ll enjoy my madness.
It is now 5:15 a.m., and my brain is buzzing. I may as well stay up and keep cooking. Somewhere out there, I have to believe hungry readers are waiting for my next concoction.
