Every day a struggle
I was having dinner with a writer friend of mine. I hadn’t seen her in a couple of years and after all of the banalities and pleasantries, she asked me how my writing was going. I answered her instantly and spontaneously by saying that every day is a struggle. She caught my drift, for she didn’t pursue the question.
I didn’t mean that writing is a noble struggle to wrest meaning from words. Rather, I meant that after all these years, I’m still finding it hard to do.
She was excited because she had found a publisher for her novel, and it was expected to come out in the fall. She said she had considered self publishing it but that she wanted it to have the possibility of serious distribution, which a conventional publisher can provide.
I was, of course, feeling both happy for her and glum for myself, but then she said something that gave me a fresh perspective. She said that after working on the novel for twenty years, she finally thought she had it right.