I screwed up big time on something that was a BIG DEAL to me and when the repercussions hit, I was knocked on my butt. I cried, read “Confessions of a Shopaholic” and slept. Now I’m eating Reese’s Pieces. My spirits are lifting.

The funny thing is that when something goes wrong, I immediately start mentally attacking my writing even if what happened has nothing to do with my writing. That’s what I did today, and I was ready to give up all the way.

As I was falling asleep, ideas kept popping into my head for something new.

It didn’t take me even five minutes after I woke up to start planning on what I was going to work on next and/or continue.

Ideas for current WIP keep coming.

HUH?

I was ready to give up, I’d convinced myself that I was too stupid and careless to ever make it in this field, and yet, my mind kept churning out the goods.

I guess I do have the soul of a writer, and I couldn’t ever stop even if I THOUGHT I wanted to.

Once upon a time, I would have crawled into a dark, black hole and shut myself up for an indeterminable amount of time. Thank God I can’t even fathom doing something like that right now. Even though I am still reeling at my idiocy, I know I have to stop beating myself up and move on, right?

I’ve learned a valuable and expensive lesson today. It must have been meant to be.

(Originally published at Anywhere Is…)

8,805 / 10,000 (88.0%)

(Originally published at Anywhere Is…)

7,704 / 10,000 (77.0%)

(Originally published at Anywhere Is…)

I’ve started many novels and haven’t gotten past the first 25 or so pages. Then, every once in a while, I feel that spark. That zinging in my gut that says “this one will be different.” Sometimes it fades out, and I file those ideas away for another time, perhaps. Other times, it HAS to happen.

I think I’ve figured out why.

I have to fall in love with the characters. I know I can write well on the fly, but if I don’t care about the characters I am writing about, the story is going to die. If I don’t have a small idea of what to do with those characters, the story will die. Even if I DO know exactly what I want to do, the story won’t happen unless I fall for my characters. Unless they are keeping me awake at night. Unless I can’t stop thinking about them. Unless every fibre of my being wants to stop whatever I’m doing and immerse myself back in their stories.

I can’t tell anyone what I’m writing about. I can tell people I’m writing. I can tell them I’m planning. But the second I give out details, the story fizzles out. There have been some exceptions, but for me, this is the rule more often than not.

I have to have SOME idea of what to do with these characters I’m so endeared to. If I love them enough, I will find ways to fit them in. If they love me enough, their needs, wants and wishes will come out as I’m writing, dreaming, creating. But forcing them, or trying to make a plot happen does not work. It’s painful and I don’t think the quality of my writing is as good as it could be.

I have to ACCEPT that there are many ways to put together a novel. No more thinking the first drafts must be 1) perfect 2) written in chronological order 3) what I absolutely MUST keep in the end.

I am the one in CONTROL. I can write what I want, how I want it, and I can always change it later.

Amen.

to SELF:

to THE CRITIC:

to HIM:

to THEM:

(Originally published at Anywhere Is…)