regular angst
This morning I'm considering it a victory -- I've reached that point in the writing of a chapter where I doubt everything that's written; I'm thinking about my characters and second guessing each and every decision I've made thus far, almost convincing myself to go back and start from page one. That's where I am now. Talking myself out of going back. In fact I think I'm all done with thinking about going back. Now the fun starts. The next step happens when I engage myself in debate about the general merits of the various pieces already on the page. What kind of victim is Eleanor? What does her suffering look like, from the inside out? Or is it not really relevant, what's happening with my victim -- am I writing a story where the character is completely revealed but never actually seen? There's something cool there, but I'm not sure I want to get into it. But wait, that definitely goes along with the bridge setting, doesn't it? And so I go, meandering through the various steps and aspects, until finally I give myself a good old-fashioned scolding, tell myself to plant my sorry butt in the chair and get the work done. Part of the problem, realistically, is that the early sections are still so raw. The voices are indistinct, the characters are, in some cases, unsatisfyingly filled. I tell myself that the best thing to do is continue moving forward, applying what I learn as I go, with the intention of going back through it once it's all on paper and making it right. I think the art comes in the second draft... I know. I may fail.
