Writing through the middle of your novel can be like trudging through a bog, every step an enormous effort, mud sucking your shoes and socks off as you go.
In the distance, fog. Behind you, fog. Above you, fog.
And then come the mosquitoes of doubt and self-loathing. They buzz around you, nibbling constantly, until you cry out: “Why am I doing this to myself?”
This is where I would normally quote Bradbury to you, and you would roll your eyes and tell me to just shut up about Write—Don’t think—Relax already. You’re sick of that and you want an answer to the problem of the day-to-day toil, of churning out words that you know just suck and that aren’t going anywhere.
I wrote 1788 words yesterday.
At no time did I believe the writing was good.
At no time was confident that the descriptions (filtered through the opinions of my viewpoint character) were vivid and compelling.
At no point did I feel pulled along by page-turning momentum.
I’m not immune to the changing weather of mood and emotion.
But I have no intention of stopping, because I have the benefit of experience. Sixteen novels, over a million words published. I know this territory.
The first time you cross the swamp, you don’t know if it ever ends. But if you cross it once, you have that knowledge, that certainty forever. There is firm ground ahead.
Here’s what I’ve discovered:
- Your writing is never as bad as you think it is. Scenes written while you feel enthusiastic aren’t necessarily better than the ones you write when you have a cold and want to fall asleep at the keyboard. I’m often delighted by chapters I had assumed were slow-paced masses of confusion when I wrote them.
- You learn to distinguish between self-criticism of plot and instinctive alarm bells that something isn’t working. Pay attention to your gut, not so much your mind.
- If you write yourself into a corner and don’t know how to get out, good! Your reader won’t know what’s going to happen either.
- It’s okay to do a larger loopback and take a right where you previously took a left. Yes, you’ll have to get rid of a bunch of hard-earned words sometimes. That’s no problem. Your only concern is progress.
In any endeavor, discomfort is how you know you’re exercising. It’s what forced your brain to adapt. Recognize it and take satisfaction that you are doing something difficult.
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