So, I realized today that I’ve been writing feverishly until the wee hours of the night, er, morning, for the better part of a month. I think my brain thinks there is a deadline looming, but the only person waiting for my work is me. Wait, that’s not really true. I do have some very eager friends and family members waiting to read this new stuff. And I want to get it to them, but I don’t think they realize there is a process. A very arduous process that doesn’t care how much I want to be finished. That’s the thing with writing. You’re always racing for the finish line, but there’s still so much work to be done! Like, the writing. And the rest of the writing.
I’m over 56K in now and am finally seeing how it will all come together. I’m not an outliner, so I’m never really sure how things will play out. Writing is the only place in my life where this is the case. Sometimes this is a huge relief. Giving myself permission to just go with it is a welcome change. Mostly, though, it can be downright frustrating.
I think next time I’ll try the outline, but I’ve said that before. And here we are.