This post is a question for writers. There is an interesting part of writing a novel that I have long been curious about. I hope some will respond.
You have an idea for a story. Maybe you’ve outlined the story, written a pitch, done some character sketches. Perhaps you’ve worked out some scenes in your head. Maybe for you, a movie plays in your head of the completed chapter and then you can write it down. That’s how it works for me. But at the beginning, it’s an idea, a story known by only you.
Even when the first words go down on the page it still seems ephemeral, more smoke and shadow than substance. Even a couple of chapters into it there’s not much to grab onto; its still like trying to take hold of a cloud. And then, somewhere along the way, it becomes a thing of tangible substance. The fog melts away and there is somehow a foundation where there once was none. There is form and shape. If you look away for a moment and then glance back, it’s still there; it has not dissolved back into the mist. At some point it becomes an entity all its own, independent and somehow able to exist apart from you, its creator. When in the process of writing does that happen for you?