Writing is a Moral Imperative
Writing a novel made me a better person
Fifteen minutes ago, I sent the Beta draft of my first novel to a group of readers. The level of emotion that I feel at this moment is incalculable. I’m a little shaky, a little relieved, sad, elated, and terrified.
Since April 2019, I have been chipping away at this book in silence. Sending scraps to my brothers, a few pages to friends. But mostly, this has been a work that was just for me. And in an instant, it’s a work for the world.
I now understand what Stephen Pressfield said when he likened creative works to birth. Something so precious and private is now revealed to all.
My first book was collaborative. I wrote a chapter and a dozen of other fitness professionals did the same. We churned it out in record time, hit bestsellers lists, and paid a pretty penny for the privilege. The book was a marketing piece.
This book, however, is my book. A piece of my soul is on the page for you to see. Each day, I committed myself to the keyboard and spent at least 15 minutes typing, editing, and dreaming. There were periods when work took over, but I always managed to eke out those 15 minutes.
They were 15 minutes I spent nourishing my neglected creative soul.
