I am attempting to write a book. When I began, I assumed that I would just need to put my thoughts down. That’s what I did for the previous book that I wrote which sits in my room now gathering dust.
But this book is special. I’m afraid I might not do it justice. It is a beautiful story and if it isn’t told right it loses the very essence that makes it beautiful. I don’t want this to be just another bunch of papers sitting on my bookshelf.
The thing is, with the previous book, they were just words without connection, without life. What I have now is different.
See the thing is, writing a book isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. A story is built much like a house or another building. You must construct it carefully, brick by brick. It’s foundation must be strong.
What you realize is, that each character to you is real. You feel their pain and you laugh with them. You must understand them through and through to make them their own person.
I remember asking my brother what he thought one of my characters Derek should do for a living. Nothing he said would sit with me.
“Derek wouldn’t like that. He needs something more intellectual” I would say to myself until I found something that was perfect.
You need to know your characters whole story no matter how little their role is. You need to know how they would react in any situation.
The one thing I couldn’t get over was how my characters developed through the story. Molding them was my favourite part. I watch as they continue to grow. I guess you could say that every character is a projection of myself.
I love writing and I hope that my story is done justice.