Was George Orwell, right?
“Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout with some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand.”
Was Orwell, right? Is writing a novel a horrible experience, more like a root canal. Should we avoid it at all costs? Every word drudgery, each page better set on fire than read. Is setting down before your computer like the day of your execution. Ok, maybe not that bad. But something to be shunned.
Or is writing a book to be anticipated? To be savored like a splendid meal or the sweetest dessert. Something you cannot wait to do. Would you write if you knew you were the only reader? If it cost and you never received a penny in profits.
For me, there is a great joy in writing. Of course, it’s a struggle. There are strenuous days when nothing goes right and your writing sounds dull and uninteresting. To set before the computer and not know where you’re going. If you write by an outline to find you’re not following it or it’s too strait laced and you have no freedom.
But when the story comes together. The words come so easily you can’t put them down fast enough. They flow like water and just as refreshing as a cold drink on a hot summer day. To look at the clock and wander where the time went. To walk with your characters into danger. To share their joys and sorrows of their lives to be a part of the tale. To write their story, Then to come back to reality and never be the same.