Because I'd love to be great at everything I love, but often that is not the case. The truth is I didn't have the passion, the dedication, or the skill to be a full time musician. And if you're my mom and you're thinking "but you're amazing, and you had all of that," or if you're my grandma and you're nodding your head, there's one thing that I did have; patience.
Ok, all of you are about to call bullshit, but it's so true. Not to toot my own horn here, but I did finish a book. And now editing it, I'm reminded of the good ol' days when I holed myself into practice rooms that slightly (ok more than slightly) resembled jail cells and played the same song over, and over, and over, and over, and over until it was on repeat in my head every. single. day.
The songs I tried to learn would play as I sat in music theory, when I tried to eat dinner, when I perused facebook, even while I dreamed. I couldn't get it out of my head even with the musical stylings of Linkin Park, even though I tried (sorry freshman roomie).
To play a song when you've been listening to it for the past several weeks straight, well, that takes patience.
To edit a book when you've been listening to the same characters bitch about the same things for over a year straight, well, that takes immense patience (not going to lie, I almost put alcohol instead of patience, but that wouldn't be true. It would just sound more appropriate).
I'm having problems keeping it fresh while trying to scrap together whatever good parts there are in this monstrosity, because really, how many times can you write about a girl's shocking fear before the whole process gets shockingly boring?
But I still love it. I still love the story, and my characters, and even though I cringe when I read over some of the earlier chapters (I think my writing has improved tenfold since I started this book), I still hold on to the hope that someday, somewhere, people I've never met will read my book and genuinely enjoy it.
Every author's dream. Right there.
Off to do some more editing...