Lost in Virt: The Life a DPC

I just finished the final draft of this novel.

It started as an adventure.
Then it turned into years of work—creative juices flowing, ideas churning, and life lived through words on the page. I met characters who took on lives of their own, and I watched their story arcs unfold.

This didn’t happen overnight. Over the last few years, the pace of writing has slowed to a careful plod. Because of chronic pain and my physical limitations, I’m lucky if I can manage even an hour a day. That hour often costs me—but it also reminds me I’m still here, still creating.

Eventually, I was no longer “making things up.” I was just the observer of the story. The characters did what they did, and I was along for the ride.

At least, that’s my process.

I finish the story, and only later—after some distance, some sleep, and a few walks around the block—I begin to understand the message or theme the story was trying to convey.

Sometimes I realize the protagonist is not who I thought they were.

Then I start on the thematic rewrite.

This is fun. So much fun.
Now I finally know what the target is. I can see the destination for this long, winding, arduous journey.

And when this joyous task is completed, I am left with…the editing.

Oh, the EDITING.

Arrrrrrg! Use as many rrrrrrs as you like. They would not be enough to describe the angst.

After several years, you look upon the work and think: Ugh.

Then, after a time, you pick it up again and rediscover the joy and pleasure of a story well told. At moments, the struggle almost seems worth it.

You think, If only someone would read it and feel…
Feel anything, really. That would be enough.

And then I remember the incredible feeling of creation—the warmth of meeting the characters for the first time, the thrill of exploration and discovery.

In that remembering, I am filled with something better than relief, better than “finally done.”

I am filled with satisfaction.