I've been rewatching Game of Thrones, and I keep finding myself thinking about one thing:
How long does it actually take to write a novel?
Because then you look at George R. R. Martin, and it feels like he has a separate agreement with time itself. Books take years to write, deadlines apparently exist somewhere, but clearly in a different universe.
And here I am with my own book, realizing that I've been working on it for about a year... maybe a year and a half. And you know what's funny? Sometimes it feels like it hasn't moved forward by a single page, a single paragraph, or even a single word.
Now, technically that's not true. There are chapters. There are drafts. The number of files keeps multiplying like rabbits.
But somehow it still feels like I'm standing in the exact same place, staring thoughtfully at the horizon.
I think part of the problem is that writing a novel isn't the same as writing fanfiction.
When you write fanfiction, the world already exists. The characters already exist. The atmosphere is already there. You're stepping into a house that's already been built.
When you write your own story, you have to build the house first, then make sure it doesn't collapse, and then figure out why the residents suddenly decided to knock down one of the walls.
And sometimes my brain goes:
— What if we just wrote a fanfic instead?
Especially a fanfic where the characters are alive, happy, communicate like normal people, and don't force the author to spend evenings researching historical details or rewriting the same scene for the fifth time.
So while George R. R. Martin continues writing his saga, I continue staring at my book, my book continues staring back at me, and honestly, we have a very complicated relationship.
But I guess that's how most big stories begin: slowly, stubbornly, and with the occasional urge to abandon everything and go write fanfiction instead.
So we keep moving forward. One paragraph at a time. ✍️📚
