Post No. 8.
I'm living proof of it.
Over the past two-plus years, I've been working on my novel--tentatively titled "A Killer's Storm"--it's about a teenage-storm chaser named Mick Riddle, who has a history with a drug dealer named Harry Marquam--the man killed his father, and in retaliation Mick had busted him and stolen boxes containing secret information. Now, almost a year later, Harry wants to escape his dealings with a worldwide crime ring, but they do not wish the same for him. Upon forced interrogation, they learn of Mick's theft. So, using a newly-developed hallucination-inducing drug, they brainwash Harry into helping their chief assassin to track down Mick and retrieve the critical data.
This novel has been through so many revisions and drafts that I've lost count. And sometime last spring, I got discouraged with it and put it away. I gave it to so many people, and only two have gotten all the way through it--my brother Ryan and one or two writer friends. Now, people are busy, I know that much. But when a year passes, I began to get the feeling my novel just didn't have the guts or merit to compete with everything else people do in their lives.
So I gave it up, and started writing poetry over the summer. And all through the fall, I thought about it occasionally--and never could get back into it. It was just a big, ugly mess--the characters didn't interact the way I wanted them too, I rambled on for pages and pages of storm-chasing narrative without moving the rest of the plot forward, the motives and logic behind a lot of the plot twists wasn't very strong.
But, unknown to me through all those months, the story was churning inside the deep recesses of my brain, curing, aging, growing riper and stronger. My wonderful mother encouraged my poetry side more and more, and assigned me her old college books on style and voice for school. Then, over Christmas, she asked me to give her the latest edition of my novel to read. I thought about refusing. After all, I hadn't touched it in months.
Then she sent out her Christmas cards, along with a letter. Talking about me and my writing. And I swear people started praying.
In the space of a week and a half, all the simmering that had been going on my head burst out into some fifty- thousand words of rewritten material. And now I think I might actually be able to make the story work. If anyone reading this is interested in being a beta reader, reading the whole thing, and giving me feedback, please let me know in the comments or by email.
And thank you, everyone who's been praying! I'll be sure to do the same for you!
"Again, truly I tell you that if two of you on earth agree about anything they ask for, it will be done for them by my Father in heaven."--Matthew 18:19