For the last few weeks I’ve been very slowly but surely editing my hopefully-soon-to-be-published-and-successful book, which is the first in a (hopefully) long series of fantasy. And honestly, from the alcoves of my heart and the nooks my mind, there is nothing harder, nothing more self-destructive and debilitating than editing your own book.
It’s just terribly difficult to read your own work and edit it. First of all, I’ve always wanted to be a writer. From the Nancy Drews and Hardy Boys my dad would buy me to read on long drives, to the first time I ever opened a Harry Potter book as a young boy, I just knew that I wanted to do something like this. But I never believed in myself – why should I? Thousands of people write stuff. Go to any site like fanfiction.net or any sister sites and you can see thousands upon thousands of stories, all written by a person who had the same hopes and dreams as I, the same wishes and… the same everything. As a person who doesn’t like wasting his time, why should I pursue a path that millions have failed at? There’s nothing special about me. Continue reading