Writing a book is a marathon.
I don’t run.
(I’ve never been a runner.)
I tried to take up running once
on the prompting of my oldest daughter,
a doctor who took up running later on and still says to me,
“Come on! You can do it!”
(She wants a bunch of our family to do the Color Run together…
and I still might, for her, for this…because, hey, that looks like a ton of fun…
and, yeah, I sat next to the originator/CEO of the run on a flight from Detroit to Denver
a couple summers ago on the way to one of my residencies
and she seemed super genuine, which I like….
(Wait. Rambling. Sorry. Moving on…)
I love a good workout. I love the gym.
I love to walk. Hike. Even climb.
Every time my daughter runs a race of some kind,
I’m in awe.
And marathon runners — whoa.
I’m in quadruple awe.
Even though I don’t run, I do know this:
There’s a point in running where you have to ignore your body
and simply keep pushing until you’re there.
For writers, it’s the same.
There’s a point in writing where you just have to ignore
the naysayers clamoring in your brain
(“this idea will never fly”…”this is too much to do”…”this book is foo”)
and simply keep writing.
Every writer feels the marathon burn.
Every novel writer gets into the book and has to
push, push, push to get it done
(especially with a deadline waving at you in the not-do-distant future)
and in the middle of it all,
you question the validity of what you have to say.
Every creator-type wonders if anyone on this earth will care
about what we create.
Just sit down, put your fingers to the keys, and go.