In case you haven’t heard already, I’m writing a nonfiction book. It’s almost done, and I can’t wait. That’s because after a year and a half, two drafts and somewhere between thirty-five and forty thousand words, I have come to an important conclusion:
I hate writing nonfiction.
Really. I can’t stand it. I’d rather go to the dentist than write nonfiction. The reason is simple: you have to be accurate. There are facts, and you have to get them right. Which requires research. And footnotes. And, you know, accuracy. It’s a level of detail that I can’t stand. It also means other people can have the same idea. It means people can disagree with your opinions or conclusions. It means you can be wrong.
You can’t be wrong in fiction. Whatever you’re writing can suck, but you can’t be wrong. You can’t screw up a footnote or misquote someone. And you don’t have to do all this blasted research and worry about all these details. Fiction is just so much easier. I’ve gone too far to give up, that’s for sure. But I feel like Don Music.