For the Rush

I’m editing. I have (once again) hit writer’s block and decided this would be the perfect time to edit… or totally rip apart… my first novel. Except, of course, I still don’t feel like writing. So I’m pushing my way through. And feeling like a petulant two-year-old: “But it’s hard!”

It’s so scary, looking at something like this again, something I spent years working on, something I was never really sure I would finish. And, it’s finished. Except it needs a lot of work.

I’ve learned so much, and I guess that’s good, but it makes it so much easier to see what I did wrong, especially in those scenes that I wrote when I first started. But, with this story, I don’t remember a piece of it I worked on that I didn’t think this is hard. This is scary. And then I would push through it, and I remember being a little in awe at myself, at the process, at writing because it was hard and scary, and I actually did it.

I guess this entry is a little pep talk for me, for whoever reads it. Writing is scary and hard. If it’s not, you’re not doing it right. Or, you’re definitely not doing it well. But, what a rush.

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