Right now I’m rather proud of myself. Want to know why?
I am in a horrible mood, I’ve felt like crying for two days straight and I feel bloated and sore thanks to the IVF drugs (hormones yay!) I’ve been on for the last two weeks or so, I’m exhausted after work and I just managed to lock myself out of the house. The bad mood has pushed me right back to thinking that my writing sucks and the project I’m working on won’t ever be good enough to be published, and that at the very least it needs to be completely reworked and rewritten.
So why am I proud of myself? I feel like a turd. I feel like my writing is a turd’s turd. So what could possibly make that alright?
I am proud that I’m carrying on despite that. I did my writing yesterday and today despite being sure of its level of crappiness, and I feel strangely at ease in the knowledge that I can’t trust my own judgement right now. Perhaps my writing is crap. Perhaps it’s not. I really can’t tell at the moment. All I know for a fact is that quitting won’t give me anything other than grief.
And so I carry on writing, be it crap or not! Perhaps the current project won’t ever get published. Perhaps my second novel won’t get published either. But the third, perhaps? Well, there won’t ever be a third novel unless I do number one and two first, regardless of how good or bad they are.
How far have I gotten then? Well I am closing in on 40 000 words. I’m guessing the entire thing will land at somewhere between 75 and 100 000 words. And of course we’re still just talking a first draft full of inconsistencies and crater sized plot holes. Oh well.