They say a writer
is only as good as her last book. True, very true. If you’ve turned out a
string of pearls and deliver a lump of coal, that’s what you’ll have to
overcome in the next book.
I don’t think
I’ve done that yet. Not to brag (OK, it’s bragging), but one reader says each
Duckworthy book is better than the last one. I’m not examining that sentiment far
enough to see what it says about the first two. Nope, not doing it.
But what occurred
to me yesterday, as I completed a scene that I very much like, and one that
popped up all on its own, as they are wont to do, is that maybe a writer is
only as good as her last chapter. Her last paragraph? Her last sentence?
No wonder writers
exist in a constant state of mild anxiety, broken up by periods of sheer
terror, usually induced by deadlines.
Am I overthinking
this? Maybe not. After all, you can’t stick awful sentences into your
paragraphs and just continue on your blithe way. They all have to be crafted.
They all have to hang together. Nothing must impede the reader, speeding
through your deathless prose, turning the pages into the night—ideally.
When we do put in
a stumbling block, we sure do depend on our beta readers to point those out to
us so we can smooth the way.
This is very much
on my mind as I finish up the second Fat Cat book and embark on the third. The
first one was so well received, that I can’t believe the second one will
measure up, let alone the third. All I can do is write the best book I can and
fling it out there. Talk about a wing and a prayer!
I will add that I
depend on my publishers’ editors to keep me on the straight and narrow to
producing an entertaining book. However, it’s my name on the cover, right? One
of my names, anyway.
This blog is duplicated at Kaye's place, http://travelswithkaye.blogspot.com/
This blog is duplicated at Kaye's place, http://travelswithkaye.blogspot.com/