Friday, February 15, 2013


I find writing to be an extremely bizarre thing. I don't know what else to call it. It's not a career. It's not a hobby. It's a passion. A nameless thing that sucks the energy from me. And sways my soul.

I was editing Ch. 9 of 'The Other Side' tonight and found  myself in tears. A difficult and moving scene, at least for me, between two different species who find they have touched each other, not physically but spiritually. I'm always astounded when such strong emotions surface during the writing process. I guess I'm used to the euphoria when a book is done or a chapter comes together. But deep, gut-wrenching feelings that sometimes surface always surprise me.

I'm not saying I don't like it. I'm Irish after all. We Irish love angst. *g* But I'm saying it's surprising. I should be happy. I guess it means I'm a good writer. I remember reading books and being transported into the places and times and falling in love with some characters and hating others. That I can do it with my own words still surprises. And terrorizes. 'The Other Side' is going to be a soul-stirrer, I can see that now.

I hope that's a good thing. 

Does this ever happen to you? I can't be alone in this, can I?

Life is disturbing.


  1. I often cry over my own stories when I reread them -- and sometimes when I write them! It's sometimes hard for writer's to admit to themselves that they are good, maybe because they don't want to seem proud, but I think it's part of the ability to write -- if you can recognize good writing in someone else, be moved by someone else's words, why not your own?

  2. Glad to know I'm not the only one, Margaret. And good thoughts about good writing.