My lifelong dream (aside from the few years that I turned aside to think of becoming an astronaut or marine biologist) has been in pursuit of a full-time writing career as a novelist. Lately it seems that the dream has turned and is now pursuing me.
Does that mean I’ve caught it? No. It means that now I’m being stalked. That when I try to spend a Saturday afternoon reading or at the library, the pressure to write leaves me feeling guilty. When I go for more than a day or two without writing, the pressure builds. The need to finish this book and that book and a short story to submit to Ellery Queen and soon I’m in a jumble of ideas all struggling to be out and done RIGHT NOW, which of course never happens because writing a novel is a long distance endeavor and must be met daily a little bit at a time.
Today I feel chased. I’ve written 4 pages, but it isn’t enough. I really need to be done. However, I have 30,000 words to go, so I suppose I’d better be patient.