I’ll continue with my previous post’s theme: Doubt. It’s decided to stick around. I tried reading the book again–you know, the one with the female author using a ‘male’ voice–can’t get past the first page. I tried just now, in fact. A paragraph or two in, I actually heard myself say, “This is just too hard for me.”
What is? Reading the book? I love books. Writing books? I love writing. So why the doubt? Who knows. Maybe it’s the holidays (Christmas in three days), maybe it’s my hormones, or maybe it’s all just part of being an intrinsic writer.
I’ve decided to leave my novel alone for a while. It’s been sitting in a green binder sprawled open on my work desk for months now, because as I rewrite and edit draft 2, I habitually look back to draft 1. I just closed it. Pushed it away. I think it needs some well-deserved dormancy. In the meantime I can concoct an editing plan, because you know something, I don’t really have an editing plan. I don’t think my editing skills are vigorous enough. No one–including myself–has ever taught me to revise effectively. All my writing classes have been great for method and story building, but not so much for revision. Maybe because everyone has his or her own style concerning the proverbial chop block. Or maybe because revision, frankly, sucks.
Here’s another thing about being that intrinsic writer I’ve been yapping on about: Sometimes, I wish I didn’t want it so badly. Imagine not expecting so much more of myself? I have a job, a fiance, a family, friends, a home, two sweet cats…what’s wrong with that. Nothing. I just want to write.
Then this questions routinely pops up, “well do I want to write–because I already do that–or do I want to publish?” The bright side to this is the fact that I always can write. Even if only for myself. There is definitely an upside to that. If nothing ever comes of this, then, well I can still do it. That, maybe, is what makes me an intrinsic writer.
So what is ‘too hard for me?’ Maybe I’m just making it hard. I suppose us intrinsic types do that too.