My six week exile from my book ends this weekend.
How do I feel about this? Hmmm….
Mixed feelings if I am honest. I have tried not to think about it, obsess over it, consider it, following the advice to ‘put it out of my mind’ to better evaluate it when I come back to it. I’ve focused on other projects, writing four or five short stories that are still in various places of ‘done.’ Despite my steadfast intentions, in the back of my mind has been this novel, lingering, hovering, demanding to be dreamt about, thought over, considered. Bullying me as only an unfinished first novel can.
On my good days I am excited, confident, cocky even about the whole project. Those days are great, boosting me up, exhilarating. Then there are the other days.
The doubtful days.
Is it good enough? Did I do ‘this’ enough, too much of ‘that’? The worry, the worry, the worry.
I’ve decided to rewrite my entire beginning. I want a stronger more emotional connection to my character but also to build a bridge to other scenes coming later. I plan on doing this, instead of reading over it with fresh eyes, tonight.
Am I avoiding the next big step? Maybe.
Or maybe I might just create greatness.
Here’s to trying…