“Kind of like reading Louis L’Amour, but with dinosaurs.”
That’s from one of my books Beta (Rough Draft) Readers. As someone who grew up reading pretty much all of Louis L’Amour’s books – that’s as high of praise as I could ever hope for.
Mathematically speaking, I’m 36% through the final draft. Which doesn’t mean much since the story length grows and shortens as I edit. After this draft, it will be the ‘return to the beginning and nit pick every single freaking sentence for errors’. Writing a book is kind of a PITA.
I’ll hit walls sometimes, a scene usually that takes a few days to work my way through. It’s draining, but bursting through that sucker and rampaging through the next few thousand words of good stuff makes it all worthwhile.
There should be a general rule for a writer, if you realize the opportunity to do something awesome in your work, freaking do it. The reader will thank you for it. No one will ever thank you for making something mediocre.
Except Stephen King’s readers. They keep rewarding him with monies for his mediocre crap.
(Side note, he wrote Dream Catcher while tripping on Oxycontin. Another one of his, AHH! THE SPECIAL KID WAS AN ALIEN THE WHOLE TIME! SURPRISEEE!)
I’m anxious to start the next series.
Because while the outline on the sequel is mostly finished, I really have another story I want to tell about Marines on an island during WWII.
Because the ocean covers 70% of the planet, and 95% of it is unexplored.
That leaves 95% of crazy shit I can make up and stuff into a book full of BARs, Thompsons, M1 Garands, Japanese suicide charges, Mitsubichi Zeros, P51 Mustangs, and…
Did I mention Flame Throwers? Oh heck yeah.
Forget this book – I want to write THAT ONE.
(Excuse me while I go type faster.)