Just a Truth About Me

Some things have happened that make it clear that “Maybe I suck as a writer” is just some bullshit my brain tells me to make me unhappy. But I had to laugh today when I realized that recent events mean that even my stupid brain can’t make that script fly anymore. Now I’ll have to content myself with making myself miserable with worry that I’ll never write anything as good as x again.

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Where Has This Week Gone?

I have far fewer squares done than I expected and much less progress on Chapter 2. And it’s already Thursday!

I’ll admit, through, that I’m restarting Chapter 2. I didn’t delete all the work I’ve done on Chapter 2 and I’ve not quite gone to the lengths I did with Chapter 1, where I moved all that material to another file, in case I thought I might need it, but needed it out of the manuscript. But so far I am finding myself almost writing two books in tandem. There’s the book I want to write and the book I need to write in order to throw up my hands and say “This isn’t working!” and get back to the book I want to write.

I think the thing is that, in my long fiction, I tend to dwell on characters and to let the story grow out of stuff going on in those characters’ lives. But a haunted house doesn’t grow out of stuff going on in your life. It’s an outside force bearing down on my characters. So, I think, we always need to feel the house leaning against them.

But instead, I’m writing about divorces and cute outfits and old football injuries. I don’t think that writing is a waste or anything. I think I need to know this stuff about my characters. But I don’t think it goes in the book. So, I’m having a little difficulty switching gears between how I write and how I want this book to go.