Two-Thirds
If I traveled back in time and told my younger self I'd be fully committed to writing a novel, I'd end up kicking my younger self in the shins before he could get too excited. I'm two-thirds done with my manuscript. It's horrible, but I keep telling myself most things are when I'm relying on streams of consciousness to churn the words out.
It's an emotional roller coaster.
There's a lot of frustration and anxiety. Reading through paragraphs on paragraphs that don't reflect the visions I had; only then to discover maybe I didn't have them in the first place. Poorly built roads leading to these moments that I so wanted to write. This is the immediate worry among a long list of worries. However, I don't see myself doing anything else. I don't want to do anything else. I delude myself into thinking this is what 'having a calling' means and I fall into it with my arms wide open.
On a side note, the fact that Samuel Beckett felt the same way about his magnum opus gives me some comfort. The honest experiences and feelings from peers often do.
All I'm soldiering towards now is to be done with it. This is the second draft, an overhaul, a complete revision. It goes without saying there was a first. That feeling of finishing a draft for a novel from start to finish, there is nothing like it. Now, two-thirds in, maybe it's something writers never get desensitized to. I guess if writing a novel was like climbing a mountain, then it'd make sense that hitting the peak feels unfamiliar every single time.
This is the roller coaster after all.
I'm so close yet so far.
All I need to do is keep writing.
It's an emotional roller coaster.
There's a lot of frustration and anxiety. Reading through paragraphs on paragraphs that don't reflect the visions I had; only then to discover maybe I didn't have them in the first place. Poorly built roads leading to these moments that I so wanted to write. This is the immediate worry among a long list of worries. However, I don't see myself doing anything else. I don't want to do anything else. I delude myself into thinking this is what 'having a calling' means and I fall into it with my arms wide open.
On a side note, the fact that Samuel Beckett felt the same way about his magnum opus gives me some comfort. The honest experiences and feelings from peers often do.
All I'm soldiering towards now is to be done with it. This is the second draft, an overhaul, a complete revision. It goes without saying there was a first. That feeling of finishing a draft for a novel from start to finish, there is nothing like it. Now, two-thirds in, maybe it's something writers never get desensitized to. I guess if writing a novel was like climbing a mountain, then it'd make sense that hitting the peak feels unfamiliar every single time.
This is the roller coaster after all.
I'm so close yet so far.
All I need to do is keep writing.
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