Some days, when I sit down to write, my mind goes blank. Other days my fingers can’t type fast enough to get everything in my head down on paper/screen. Some days words flow freely and they express things beautifully. Other days it’s more like slogging through mud.
This last week or so there has been a lot of mud slogging. Every word feels like work. Every sentence falls flat.
Yesterday, I hit a point where I wanted to just toss it all. All 205700 words of this trilogy because it is just rubbish (it isn’t) and no one would ever want to publish it (someone will).
To help counter that mind set, I went back to some of my favorite pieces in this story, some of those sentences that sing, those paragraphs that hit with just the perfect (*chef’s kiss*) combination of snark and sass in the midst of terrible circumstances.
And I remember how it feels to write like that. And I remember that all of the slogging at least means there are words on a page, and I can edit words on a page into polished nuggets of gold. And I remember how much I love this story and this character.
Never let someone tell you that writing isn’t work. Hard work.
Do the work. Get the words out. Making them pretty can come later.