Is this what it's like to give birth?

Early on in the gestation, you're not really sure that you've got something going on, but it seems that there might be. Increasingly, some of your energy is syphoned away. You're not as at ease as you used to be; there's some nagging idea at the back of your head that your time is not always your own, and you don't cut loose as much as you used to.

But, for all of that, you really have nothing to show for it.

Eventually, however, it becomes obvious that you're committed. It becomes a serious topic of conversation, and everyone has advice on what you should do. Professional examination reveals that things are starting to come together, that previously ambiguous blobs are now starting to coalesce into coherent and distinct parts. You are, at turns, excited and daunted by the possibilities.

You think about what to name it.

You reach a point, however, when you're ready for it to just be over with. Done. Finished. Sleep becomes a bit rarer, and anxiety becomes more common. Discomfort, even more so. Anybody brings it up, and you get cranky. Yet, it's something you really want to talk about, too, at times.

Gestation is long and uncomfortable, but in different ways throughout the process. Labor is shorter, and even more uncomfortable.

This is it. You're close. Very close, and you're really, really ready. But, oh, it's so much WORK! All of your energy is now focused on this one task. You can't help it; it's involuntary. If you're fortunate, you've got people who matter to you urging you on constructively. Push. Push. PUSH!

And then, finally, out it comes. All at once. Bwluoop, just like that, a big gushy mess. Slap it or tickle it to make sure it's alive, clean it up, and officially give it a name. But the hard part is over. Soon you'll be dressing it up to take it out into the real world, and you're gonna give it all the support you can.

Is that what it's like?

Let me describe the labor pains of delivering a novel. Your mileage may vary, of course.

Nothing else that I'm working on at this moment is occupying as much of my attention as the novel. Maybe that's not the way it's supposed to be, but that's the way it is. I do the things I gotta do when I must, but all available time is spent thinking about or working on the novel.

I've started to fall into a rhythm of sorts, where the pressure builds up all day long until sometime around 6pm or 8pm or so, and then I have no choice but to sit down and writewritewritewritewrite. I get tired, and I keep writing. I get a second wind,and I keep writing. Sometime around midnight, I fix myself a bowl of Campbell's Soup (one of the Cream ones), pop open a can of Dr Pepper (notice there's no period in that name) and writewritewritewritewrite some more. Most days, I write until about 4 or 5 in the morning.

This is not a labor of love. It's involuntary! I've come too far at this point and it's a little late to turn back.

Why the hell am I telling you this, anyway? I should be writing! Oh, I know why. I'm taking time to breathe before the next big PUSH, which will resume tonight sometime around 7.

I want to thank you all for your encouragement and support. It's close now; close to being done. How close? I have no idea. But I'm going to keep pushing until this thing is out and ready to meet the world.

As for a name, well... still working on that, too.

:-)