Why write a book anyway? There seems to be a welter of expedition and adventure literature hitting the shelves at the moment, along with a growing surge in high-profile expeditioning.
Category: Books
It took quite a bit longer than expected, but suddenly, yesterday, I felt that the end of the book had appeared on the horizon. The hope is to finish the first draft within the next few days.
Without much idea of how it would turn out, I began writing three months ago, shortly after returning from a chilly Scandinavian bike trip.
I’m making great progress, on the face of it. I’ve written 31,000 words — almost half the word-count of the average novel, according to some. I feel that I have made headway into the meat of the process — the ‘middle’ of the story, as it were.
You generate a lot of free time on the road. To observe, to create images, to think. Often it’s nice to simply empty your head entirely and think of nothing at all. But I have been able to do a ton of reading in my tent at night, during lazy lunch-breaks, while waiting for friends to finish packing.
I sat down a few days ago and began to write. I wrote and wrote and wrote. The words flew from my mind faster than I could get them down. Before I knew what had happened I’d committed six thousand words to manuscript. And I was happy with all of them.
