Wednesday, October 7, 2009

A clarification

I may have mistakenly given the impression yesterday that I hate the book I am writing. Apparently, some people think when you fantasize about shooting something full of holes it means you don't like it. Go figure.

But, as I told Paul in the comments, I don't hate my book. I LOVE my book. I think it is hilarious and gripping and poignant and may have the ability to cure cancer. If I didn't love it so much, in fact, it would be much easier to write it, because I wouldn't care so much about every single word being perfect for my masterpiece.*

And I don't hate writing. Obviously. Or I wouldn't do it. Don't tell the non-writers who are so sympathetic when I complain, but this struggle is part of the fun of it.**

I don't even hate squirrels that much, except when they're in my house waking my children at odd hours.

* Hmm. This reminds me frighteningly of how I feel about my children.
** For a much smarter, more beautiful explication of this, see Sara Lewis Holmes and Linda Urban's conversation. And, by the way, if you don't read the consistently thoughtful and helpful blogs by Sara and Linda, you should. And if you don't have your copy of Sara's Operation Yes yet, go find one. More on that later.


Boni Ashburn said...

I *do* hate the book I'm writing and I think it's crap. HA! Ah, well...

Vijaya said...

Well put, Jacqui.

Elise Murphy said...

As my wise mother always said, "They don't call it work for nothing."

And there are days when it is *work* but as you've said, most of the time it is joy.

cath c said...

well, that's it in a nutshell.

if i didn't love writing/my kids/honey so much, would they be nearly as aggravating?

Jacqui said...

Boni, Ha!

Thanks, Vijaya and Elise.

And, yes cath, the metaphor works for all of it, doesn't it?