For my final ICL assignment, I chose to begin a middle grade novel.
About two weeks in, this feels as though I’ve jumped into a raging river and the current is carrying me toward some dangerous frontier. According to the prevailing metaphors and puns, I’m supposed to be “steering a craft.” If I’m in a boat at all, it just may be the bark of folly!
I’m most afraid of the monster beneath the surface: plot. Coming up with a viable plot seems so easy. Many agree there are only three: (wo)man vs. (wo)man, (wo)man vs. nature, (wo)man vs. God. Every story is a variation on one of these.
By now I’ve heard and read thousands of stories. I know what makes a good story. But that doesn’t mean I can write one.
Maybe I will drown in this river, dragged down by the plot monster or by some snag invisible from the sparkling surface. Or maybe (not likely) I’ll dog-paddle my way to shore, shake it off, and curl up in my warm and dry doghouse.
Probably, I’ll just tread water for a while.
Have you noticed progress tends to come in quantum leaps? That you seem to be at a standstill, and then suddenly, you reach a higher level of skill and confidence?