I’ve Been Struggling
For the last two months, you’ve probably noticed a theme in my blog posts: finding momentum.
I’ve been dragging-tail, binge watching TV, my lofty goals have all fallen by the wayside, discarded like empty candy wrappers.
I knew writing was hard, I knew it takes skill, timing, and luck to get anywhere in this business, but I just knew if I got my story just-right, it would be fine. Someone, somewhere would like it.
My vague plans when I first started this journey were: query for a year, if I had no takers, just self-publish. I never realized how much one could edit. I didn’t realize that every rejection would have me look at my novel with a more critical eye, and find things to fix, to polish, to shine.
It’s a learning process, I’ve been telling myself.
I never looked at my book and thought: This Is Shit.
I’ve thought mine was a decent ‘popcorn’ book and I wanted it to be stronger. I knew I could make it better and I wasn’t afraid to ask for help.
But last week?
Last week, I had the thought: what happens if I just stop.
No one’s making me write, or edit, or revise. No one would be mad at me. They might be disappointed, but more disappointed FOR me, than IN me.
What would happen if I let the dream die?
The thought crept in, like the story of the monster on the roof of the car, scratching his way in, one scrape of his nails at a time. I’d felt the doubt pressing in, but I wasn’t ready for this thought.
The thought hit me like a punch to the gut–I felt queasy. I wanted to slam the door shut and pretend I never saw the thought.
What if just thinking it jinxed me?
The thought of just walking away bothered me. If I walked away, all of my work would have been for nothing.
No matter how many times I try, I haven’t failed unless I give up.
The stars themselves fought and aligned and gave me a empty weekend: free of friends, family, or obligations.
I wasn’t ready to give up. I shoved my way through “reading” my own manuscript. In 3 days, I read over 150 pages and made notes, unlike any I’d given myself before–notes of Morgan: the reader, not Morgan: the writer. (I even read a book or 2 for fun, in the middle of that.)
Sunday afternoon? I wandered over to the Panera where my local CampNano group was writing, opened up my draft, and started making changes.
I’m making progress again, and it’s very good for my writing emotional-state.