Ok. So writing that novel was hard. But also fun. Every day, I created something. Sometimes it was great. Sometimes it was more “lala”. But in the end of the day, when I had completed my 1000 or 5000 words, I felt like a champion! I had gone through with my plan, was more or less on schedule, and had created something that day. I was an author, for real!
And now, my first two weeks into editing these glorious outpours of scenes, dialogues, plots and sometimes simply filling paragraphs that I had sloppily written – more like squeezed out of me myself to get to the mandatory 5000 words, but that didn’t really bring anytging to the plot in any way – I feel like jumping off a cliff. Digging myself a hole in the garden. Anything but continue this awful process of editing.
I felt I had set a very reasonable goal this time. Aware of my tendency to create to do lists and timelines that only a superhero with supersonic speed feature could actually complete, it really looked reasonable. 1 chapter edited a day, and an additional three over the week or weekend, depending on the events and program at hand. I always try to be realistic and schedule free days where I see it will be an impossible mission to get any spare hour squeezed in between my other obligations.
But oh lord, is this really no fun. Not only do my chapters seem endless to me when I’m working on them, I feel they never really sound any better even after working an hour on them. No endorphine release here. It takes an additional box of chocolates every day to get there. Maybe two or three…
The only way I manage not to give up and stash the entire thing into a novel is just to go on. And not to look back. Baby steps at a time.
I’m way behind schedule, the polished chapters still feel very raw to me, but it doesn’t matter. Stopping now would be deceiving myself and my dream of something bigger and to give up at one of the first hurdles. How weak is that?
So it’s going to be: one day at a time, one chapter at a time, one page at a time, one word at a time.