I’ve mentioned before that my writer friend, Ginger, and I are collaborating on a novel. It takes place in a remote area on the border where South Dakota and Montana meet. Ginger has written and published several novels, but this is my first stab at fiction. Lately I’ve been thinking I may have bitten off more than I can chew.
Every day I sit in at my keyboard and the self-doubt channel begins broadcasting. Why in the world did you think you could write a novel? You’ve only written short magazine articles and devotionals before? Do you think you have anything to contribute? Ginger could do a better job on her own. That nasty voice drones on and on, day after day. So far, I haven’t located the remote, so I can’t turn the thing off.
Yesterday, I ignored the broadcast long enough to begin the telephone scene I had glibly told Ginger I could handle. Do you know how hard it is to write a good phone scene? Neither did I until I started writing it. Still, the longer I stuck with it, the more I enjoyed it. I hope to finish the scene today. It would be a lot easier if I could turn off that pesky voice.
As I searched for a picture to accompany this post, I knew what was needed – a picture that conveys the vastness of the horizon on the border of South Dakota and Montana. I remember when I stood on that butte and took that picture, conscious of the grass underfoot, on Chimney Rock to the left and the trees nearby. I saw the haze in the distance, but I didn’t focus on it. Too far away.
The picture helped me understand why I feel so inadequate. My focus has been on the horizon of the novel, a the finished product which months away. But the sense of inadequacy fades when I concentrate on what is close at hand – one small scene that needs my attention today – and no more.
Will you look at that? I found the remote.
Ahhh, quiet.
