Argh, seriously, I am pretty sure the only thing I can write 80,000 words on is how I cannot write 80,000 words on something. I’m trucking along tonight, feeling all good about my progress and I have five pages. Five measly pages. Five pages of, basically, a cocktail party. A cocktail party in which no one has a cunt like walrus nose, but I guess you probably get that on the rewrite, right?
But at least I have gotten Hannah to the part where she has been accosted by a minister in the downtown library and is just about to meet with him and the priest.
I’m ready for the Devil to show up, because at least I know how to write him. He can have a cunt like a walrus nose when it suits him, no problem.
Ha ha ha.
Seriously, all night I’ve just been repeating to myself “The first one sucks, that’s part of the process.” I don’t know if that means “draft” or “manuscript” but that has been my mantra to move me forward.
I read this awesome meditation on writing and being queer. And I am going to memorize the full disclosure in it and say it to myself when I need it, which hopefully will not be as often as I need to remind myself that the first one sucks.
FULL DISCLOSURE: Part of this was my fault. We teach people how to treat us. If you absorb a certain amount of abuse, they start testing the fences for weakness. Once you’ve taken on that siege mentality you try to play it safe, you try not to offend, and your writing nosedives.
I always make the mistake of believing that absorbing abuse proves I’m tough and I can take it. I need to remember that it’s just tempting people to test for weakness.