I’m having one of those days. I don’t think I can rightly explain it, except that my brain is on mental strike. I work best under some pressure, but there’s a point at which I shut down.
DH keeps harping on how much we need the money from my current WIP, which he wouldn’t except we’ve got a bunch of money owed to us and it’s not coming in. I don’t think he understands how deeply this affects me, how I feel like I’m carrying around a little knot of terror in my chest and my mind goes completely blank when I look at that darned WIP, which, to make matters worse, is almost at the end, at that point where I’ve gone over the damn thing so much I’m convinced it’s the worst thing I’ve ever written.
And I feel like I put too much of myself in it. I’m all for baring one’s soul in one’s art, but there’s a point at which you step back and suddenly feel like shit! I didn’t mean to be that honest, really, and now I feel like tearing it in little pieces or stuffing it in a drawer and hiding it or starting over and writing something much safer.
What I really want is a giant bowl (I’m talking serving bowl here, like two-quarts or something) just filled with hot, bubbly molten chocolate. And I want to take that bowl to bed, crawl under the covers and knit and watch TV all day.
But ignore all that. Let me quote a little of Neil Gaiman’s pep talk from NaNoWriMo:
A dry-stone wall is a lovely thing when you see it bordering a field in the middle of nowhere but becomes more impressive when you realise that it was built without mortar, that the builder needed to choose each interlocking stone and fit it in. Writing is like building a wall. It’s a continual search for the word that will fit in the text, in your mind, on the page. Plot and character and metaphor and style, all these become secondary to the words. The wall-builder erects her wall one rock at a time until she reaches the far end of the field. If she doesn’t build it it won’t be there. So she looks down at her pile of rocks, picks the one that looks like it will best suit her purpose, and puts it in.
So maybe I’ll just write a few more words. But today I’m writing in my pajamas and my bed. With cookies.