Sigh. The relief of writing again. I finally got some words out. Are they great words? Who knows? Are they words? And can they be fixed? Absolutely!
I once won an essay contest about My Luckiest Moment as a Writer. This was my entry:
My luckiest moment as a writer? The moment I realized I could let the words
spill from my heart and worry about staunching any bleeding later. The moment I
realized that getting the words out is more important than getting the words out
perfectly. In that moment I was finally free to be a writer instead of an
obsessive, compulsive, hair-pulling perfectionist. I know there are writers out
there who never realize that freedom in their entire lives…making me one of
the luckiest of the lucky.
I need to heed my own advice.
I did get started again today. I started by trying to put stickies on a poster board of the scenes I wanted in my book. Only I realized after about an hour of struggling to start the dang thing all over again…that I’d already done it over again. Geez. It’s been so long since I seriously looked at it, that I didn’t even know what I’d done. (Someone needs to invent an emoticon for eye rolling).
After I realized I’d already redone it, I got started revamping the beginning of the book. By the time I was done, I ended up with 25 pages. I’d started with 29. However, I didn’t really go backward. Some of it was clipped out for later use, as I had rearranged some scenes. So, I’m guessing I probably have somewhere in the neighborhood of 30 pages. Not a bad beginning.
Now…do I write linearly, or skip ahead to what excites me most? I’ll let you know later.