I have been working on my current novel for three years now. It's a children's book. My first novel, Necessary Exile, was not for children.
The Legend of Bridget Peacemaker began as a story about an old rabbit napping beneath a Creosote bush when he is suddenly awakened by the cries of a lost girl. I worked hard on that version but it never rang true because I needed to understand who Bridget was and just how she had come to be wandering around in the desert. Now I know and if the gods are smiling favorably then very soon everyone will know.
When I was nineteen I wrote a rambling little story about a girl obsessed with counting her steps. I abandoned the story because I didn't understand what I was trying to say. Now I realize that even then Bridget was trying to tell me her story.
It tires me to write, it's like my fingernails are being ripped from my fingertips. But I have so very much to say and everytime I try to talk I get the feeling that I am not being understood.