1,114 Words

1,114 Words.

Before I seriously started working on my 10,000 hours, I hated when authors would compare writing a novel to childbirth. I was like, “Bitches were never in labor for 56 hours. Writing is easy.”

And sure, for a nerd like me with a communications degree, writing can come easily when it’s an essay, article or even a short fictional story. But when I think about the 80,000 words that need to be thought of and written down; when I think about creating an entirely creative world with interesting characters in a setting to match, I become overwhelmed.

The weight is now in my mind instead of my body. My head feels heavy with ideas, insecurities and a sense that I’m never contributing enough. I’m not staying up late enough. I’m not editing enough. I’m not working enough.

Then I remember

1. I’m a single mother with fibromyalgia
2. I’m human and need sleep
3. I have so many other things I need to incorporate to live a happy and fulfilling life

I think about how Stephen King would type out 190,000 word manuscripts in just two years, all the while he was using a typewriter and corrective tape. And I have the nerve to worry about 80,000 words with a program that fixes spelling errors on its own? Shit, two of the longest texts ever, “The Iliad” and “The Odyssey” (used spell check) were written in 8th century B.C. The 8TH CENTURY B.C. and I complain. Makes me feel stupid and ungrateful. Then I go back to the three positive and valid reasons I already mentioned.

But it was when I had to cut and paste 1,114 words out of a chapter because the content was no longer relevant, I almost cried. It took me 5 minutes, just sitting there looking at those words, while I grieved the loss of nearly three precious hours of work. Three hours of mind-numbing, exhausting work. Keep in mind, I’ve worked everywhere, from Taco Bell to 50 hours a week at a financially fantastic job. Nothing compares to the intensity of highlighting and cutting out 1,114 words.

Writing a novel is harder than being pregnant. I’m not kidding. If it were easier, we would have a lot more books and a lot less kids. At least the act of making a kid is fun. And even if your kid is ugly or colic or whatever, everyone is still going to love it. There is a major chance that the labor of love that is writing a book will not be loved by anyone. Plus, at least you know when it will be over. Writing this book feels like walking down a never-ending cave. It’s dark and scary and what if I can’t find my way out?

So I guess this post is a quick glance into the endlessly spinning brain of a novelist, if I can even call myself that yet. Am I a novelist, an author, a writer or all of the above? I don’t friggin’ know. What I do know is to be any of the above is to be crazy, brilliant and possessed.      

“Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon 

whom one can neither resist nor understand.”

—George Orwell

Melissa Sue Vieira

Co-Founder of Storytellers:  The Collective

Melissa wears many hats.  
Some are super colorful and some are dark, just like her stories.  

She is a mother, friend, writer, survivor, warrior, yogi, listener, talker 
and a lover of all things art.