I haven’t written in two weeks. It’s not that I don’t want to write; we did a mini-run of Second Chances: The Thrift Shop Musical, the show that I wrote the lyrics for, which I’m also in. And I’ve been editing a new project. So just no time for new stories at the moment.
The run of the musical was awesome. It was great to be back in the thrift shop! We got some really great work done on the show, and the audiences loved us.
And editing is moving steadily forward, it is. I even have commas in appropriate places. But I’ve hit the dreaded slump.
That awful part of the editing process where you decide everything you have ever written, including your last grocery list, is a steaming pile of poop. A really, stinking pile of poop on a humid day at that.
Every sentence is wrong, all your characters are annoying, and you don’t have a basic grasp on the English language. You start wondering why you ever bothered sitting down to write in the first place, and the temptation to throw your laptop onto a bonfire is suddenly overwhelming.
I’m trying to tell myself that the upswing is coming soon. The part where you feel like you could run up a mountain screaming, “I have made story! I am triumphant! I win day!” all in complete caveman style, of course.
I think it might be a good story. Maybe even a really damn good story. But right now I’m terrible and should never even write a thank you note again.
It’s a nasty cycle, and the rejection and criticism that are such a horribly large part of the literary biz make it worse. But I’m strong; I’ll hang on with my teeth and keep editing, hoping that there is a diamond hidden in that pool of revisions. Beneath the markings of track changes.
Or my life is an utter waste.
I’m gonna go have a glass of wine.