An Unexpected Feeling
Posted: February 25th, 2011, 3:07 pm
I've always been incredibly impatient and a perfectionist, which is not a good combination. For the past five months I've been working on a novel that I've had in my head for a few years. I wrote an incredibly sloppy version for NaNo--the first fiction I've wrote in over a decade--but I was determined to make that pile of crap sparkle like a diamond, no matter how many rewrites and edits it took. So I slaved away week after eye watering, screen blinding, finger clacking, head scratching, computer crashing, hand cramping, migraine inducing week. But as much as I love the darn thing, it just never melded together the way I wanted it to.
Last week, I finally pushed it aside. I don't think I can completely give up on it yet, but I've moved on. I honestly thought it would be harder, like there would be a grieving process or something. Maybe a tiny little funeral where I would print out all fifteen different versions, stuff them into a cardboard box and shove them into the back of the closet where they belong.
Instead, I sat down and effortlessly plotted out the next novel using all the tips I'd picked up from the one that I may never finish. I'm so high on how easily this new project is going that I'm not even itching to pick at the "failure". Yeah, I know. It's only been a week. But that's an eternity for a girl that has the attention span of a parakeet on meth. (Which is how I know I love writing. I've never stuck with something for so many months with nothing to show for it and still been this happy.)
I'll get there eventually. I know it could takes years to finish a project. Why waste time on something that's not working? That I don't yet have the talent to salvage? I guess that's why I don't feel as bad as I usually do when I have an unfinished project. I've heard people compare it to "killing" something they love, but it's more like someone took away my dried, crumbly playdoh and replaced it with real modelling clay.
Writing has changed me, and I haven't even finished a book yet. So thank you, novel, for sucking bad enough for me to have no other choice than to move onto something else but not enough for me to give up writing completely.
Last week, I finally pushed it aside. I don't think I can completely give up on it yet, but I've moved on. I honestly thought it would be harder, like there would be a grieving process or something. Maybe a tiny little funeral where I would print out all fifteen different versions, stuff them into a cardboard box and shove them into the back of the closet where they belong.
Instead, I sat down and effortlessly plotted out the next novel using all the tips I'd picked up from the one that I may never finish. I'm so high on how easily this new project is going that I'm not even itching to pick at the "failure". Yeah, I know. It's only been a week. But that's an eternity for a girl that has the attention span of a parakeet on meth. (Which is how I know I love writing. I've never stuck with something for so many months with nothing to show for it and still been this happy.)
I'll get there eventually. I know it could takes years to finish a project. Why waste time on something that's not working? That I don't yet have the talent to salvage? I guess that's why I don't feel as bad as I usually do when I have an unfinished project. I've heard people compare it to "killing" something they love, but it's more like someone took away my dried, crumbly playdoh and replaced it with real modelling clay.
Writing has changed me, and I haven't even finished a book yet. So thank you, novel, for sucking bad enough for me to have no other choice than to move onto something else but not enough for me to give up writing completely.