Writing has become…difficult. I have reached the point in the process where I’m pretty sure I am not creating the story I want, I am not doing anything good with words. I am stuck in the middle of a story and I have no idea what I’m doing.
And however normal this is for me…I am panicking. I admit it. It took me a while to realize it, but a big ole chunk of fear and doubt has lodged in my head. Usually I just keep writing, see where it goes, but this time I stopped. I set it aside.
I got out a notebook and started brainstorming, certain I needed to work something out. I didn’t know everything I was supposed to know. Right?
Or maybe not.
I’m not even sure anymore.
Luckily, I had a few people ask me to read their manuscripts. DING DING DING! A way to escape/ignore my own words. So I am critiquing, aka burying my head in the words of others to avoid my own. Don’t get me wrong. I love critiquing. I love helping other writers.
It’s part of the job.
Let my mess of a manuscript sit for a minute. Let the jumbled storyline settle. Let my mind wander away from the frustration it has become. When I go back, hopefully, I’ll be able to let go of the overthinking and have fun with Ember and Nowhere. Back to slogging through, though we won’t call it slogging…right? Frolicking. Running amok through the words.
I rock at running amok.
And for the moment, I shall rock at making comments as a critique partn…
I forgot. The author I am reading for now has dubbed his army of readers CRITIQUE AVENGERS. We are the elite fighting force, out looking for questionable word choices, places where there is no sense making, and the dreaded, hidden plot holes. So I shall do that for now.
But my words still haunt me.
So, yes, that’s me up to my hips in a story that might make no sense, that might be going nowhere, that might spontaneously combust…
And it’s okay.