What a way put it! My manuscript suddenly feels so much more important!
This homely little fellow is a mayfly nymph. He hatched from an egg on the bottom of a stream. He lives at the very bottom of the river, down in the muck. He hides from the light and keeps between, and sometimes under the rocks.
He’ll live there for a whole year. He grows, and has to shed his skin multiple times. The withered husk simply drifts away on the stream. It kind of looks like him, but it has no soul. No personality. It’s almost like the nymph has to discard some things as he grows and evolves.
A novel starts out as a manuscript. Think of it like a novel nymph. It hatches from an outline, or even just a loose idea in a writer’s mind. It hangs out in the dark too. It’s habitat could be a spare bedroom, garage or even a closet/office. It too has…
View original post 407 more words