As a novelist I’ve been through a couple of incarnations.
For a while I decided the way to write was by the seat of my pants.
I didn’t plan, not even a one-page outline and that seemed to work for me.
Until it didn’t.
After a while I ended up throwing away my work because the structure was flawed.
Then I decided I was a plotter, and I was going to outline every scene. Overnight I turned into a structure evangelist trying to convert the uninitiated. And that worked for me.
Until it didn’t.
Turned out I was writing formulaic stories that lacked heart.
After that I got to the point where I didn’t know anything .
That was truly scary. Considering I’d been writing novels for over a decade.
For a while I questioned whether or not I should write fiction any more.
But then I realized I’d returned to beginner’s mind, where the possibilities are endless and new insights are able to filter through.
Yes. I feel a little underdressed when I’m not clothed in the armor of my beliefs.
But I think I’ll stay here.
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