Today I saw a post from a writer friend:
I realized that a lot of my friends are these types of writers. The ones in it for life. The ones writing constantly of course, and maybe they turn some things out quickly, but they have that thing they’re working on that they’ve been nursing for a long time.
One high school friend finally published a work after many years of writing.
Let me be clear, I’m not here to judge anyone who writes or publishes prolifically. It’s that I realized I’m not one of those writers. At least, not now.
It’s taken about three years to write two books. I suspect the one I’m working on now will take at least that long.
Maybe that is fast. It doesn’t feel fast, though. It seems like I could spend more time, turn out books faster but it’s just not something I want to do at the moment.
I’m enjoying the process — something I have to keep reminding myself.