Today was a good day. Much better than last Monday, that's for sure. Daniel's random IM of the day was about dongles (which aren't as dirty as they sound) instead of riots, and after dinner Zoe and I played soccer in the backyard. I got a great video of her pretending to be Hope Solo, the goalkeeper for the U.S. Women's World Cup Soccer Team, and if the camera work wasn't so shaky (seriously, you try kicking a ball and taking a video without shaking all over the place!), I'd even let you see it. She dives to save the ball like a pro, I swear! And I'm not biased or anything! Then, while we played outside with our neighbors, we saw an older couple riding their bikes with their parrots sitting on their handlebars. I can't make this stuff up! The parrots' names were Ahab and Mari.
And then I finally sat down to write, and tonight I remembered how much I love writing. How fun it can be. How you can write your characters doing and saying things that you'd never, ever do or say yourself because it's fiction and you make the rules. How sometimes words can flow like water, and even though I know that through editing I'll remove about half of them, I doubled my nightly goal tonight. Yep, that's right. Over 2,000 words in just under an hour and a half.
(Good thing I'm a better editor than a writer - I can write really badly, knowing I'll clean it up later. Which reminds me. When I stop and think about exactly how awful the first draft of my book was when I shared it with my very first readers, I shudder, and am glad for the work of several months of solid editing. Jon, Daniel, Marissa, my first readers...thanks for muddling through and thanks for your support!)
Anyway, on a night like this, when you feel good about your story and your character does something that makes you think, "God! What a manipulative f***!" because what you wrote surprises you, it's hard to settle down. I went upstairs to take a shower, but my story was with me. I'd have gotten into bed to read, but I'd started writing this post in my head. I figured if I didn't come downstairs and write it, it would keep me up all night.
So now I've written it, and I just want to reiterate. I. Love. Writing. There, I said it. I'll say it again. I love it. Even if I never sell a book, even if the only people who read what I write are my friends and family who say they love it even when it's terrible, I'll keep on doing it. I think it's a part of who I am.