So, I decided to skip toward the end (of 350 pages) and put the finishing touches on the ending once and for all. (That is a hysterically hilarious, lie-down-on-your-back-and-roll-around-the-room-cackling-like-a-crazy-lady thought. To be finished in one attempt? Oh...gasp!... it is just too much!) As I started reading to get into the character voice again I began to feel a panicky little flutter in my chest. It soon filled my abdomen and rushed down my arms, leaving them almost feelingless. Staring at that screen, I was completely overwhelmed with the seemingly insurmountable task of writing a cohesive, emotional, balanced, non-cliche, interesting, relevant work with consistent, believable characters. I almost lost it. I couldn't deal with the mountain of work before me, but I also did not have the time nor energy to freak out.
So I made the conscious decision not to, and shut my computer and took a deep breath. A grim realization struck me: I have become a perfectionist and as such, realize that even when my manuscript is the best I can make it, it still may not be good enough. That thought truly sends me spiraling downward into the black hole of mediocrity I fear, and it's hard to climb out of that hole and face writing again.
But...deep cleansing breath...there is always tomorrow, and so I look forward to renewing my spirit, doing yoga and Zumba, taking a long, hot shower, putting my baby to bed and carving out an hour or two of good, solid writing time. I need to write again, not just edit until all the joy is squeezed out of it and I'm only concerned with syntax. My soul and psyche need to create, so that is my goal this week, on the cusp of the fall snowstorm that is blowing in tonight.
I will hole up and I will write.
But for now, I just need sleep.
