sleep and despair

I’m beginning to think that trying to write after coming home from a forty hour per-week job isn’t really that viable of an option.

Last night I went out for dinner by myself with a stack of papers– my printed first chapter, first draft of Blue Crystal. I went over the lot with a red pen, and managed to pick out a few portions that need to be rewritten: a fight scene, the handling of exposition and setting, some slight spacing issues, and the introductions of characters at the end of the chapter that I know remember I did rush through. When I was reading over it, I was surprised that it wasn’t quite as bad as I remembered it being. I managed to rewrite a portion of it before I grew so apprehensive of re-envisioning that fight sequence that I stopped there, and spent the rest of the night working on the beginning of my fifth chapter.

Perhaps I was tired. Perhaps I’m under too much stress and I’ve become too much of a literary perfectionist. I went to bed with a sick feeling in my gut that I have no idea what it is that I’m doing, that the conflict and the characters are uninteresting, that not enough really happens. Where’s all the drama? Why are we going to a dinner? I know that the character needs to be introduced at about this time, and that’s almost certainly where you’d first hear of him, but…

But. But, but, but…

More sleep is in order? I didn’t feel quite miserable this morning, though not waking up at five in the morning might have been a plus. And then I read Neil Gaiman’s pep-talk essay that I originally saw during NaNoWriMo, and it made me feel better. Hail, Neil Gaiman.

Author Things - Courtesy of Neil Gaiman

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