Most of what I’ve discovered, or rather rediscovered, is the degree of rage I am capable of experiencing over my own prose quality. Today I wrote a little over five thousand words, and covered one and a half chapters. This has not made me happy as:
- I don’t like the quality of the writing and think the narrative voice is wrong and I’m annoyed with the dialogue and I think the whole thing sounds stagy and forced and what the fuck are these characters doing there is no warmth in this at all.
- I wanted to write a minimum of six thousand words today but it was like trying to take a shit through a cheesegrater, ie. bloody difficult and painful.
- One and a half chapters doesn’t sound as impressive as two even if I’ve covered the plot points for two days in one burst
- I’m now not sure that I have sufficient material for the full month
- Seriously what the fuck are these characters doing.
Generally speaking I hate the planning, researching, and editing stages of writing enormously, I hate the post-writing state because it’s the limbo between activity and validation which always drives me spare, and apparently at this stage of the process I also hate the one part of writing that I normally enjoy: the writing. I imagine I will hate it less when I get a better idea of the characters and stop feeling like I’m feeling my way blind through the setting, although I also imagine that when I’ve stopped spending eight hours of my day at work I may have the energy to concentrate on the book a little more too.
Well, this hasn’t been very cheerful…