It never fails. As soon as I get excited about something, another problem comes along and derails everything.
After reading 2 more chapters in SEfFW, I went back and changed more dialogue in chapter 1 – yes, one of the chapters I’d sworn were on lock-down, that I wouldn’t acknowledge existed until after they were reviewed professionally for grammar and punctuation. When I told my husband this, his response was, “You’re not going to like me. There’s a lot more that needs cut from chapter 1.”
This is why I have no confidence. I’m not learning anything about writing. I’m changing my novel (again and again) to suit whatever piece of advice we think is a rule.
So, I’m done. I LOVE this story. It deserves its day in the sun. But it won’t ever happen because I can’t do this anymore.
It took me over a year to come up with a good…first draft. WTF? Now I’ve spent hundreds of dollars and countless hours, another year plus, trying to shape it into something that doesn’t look like some hack high schooler wrote it. And after all that, it hasn’t even hit the professional level of edit yet. Those will cause billions of more changes–that I was prepared to take because they came from the professional level.
This has only shown me how proud I really am. I never doubted that I could write. That I could write well. That I would know when the story was ready to be published. How utterly arrogant. I didn’t want to be the guy with the 1 talent, who buried it. But I’m not cut out to be anything else. This story cost my character everything. The thought hit me that it could cost me that much, too. The number of arguments and horrendous days I’ve had with my husband over this. All a lie. All for a lie. All because of a lie.
So, tomorrow, I will finally begin to clean the house, to get to the things I put off “until the book was done”. It’s done now. I wish I could get back all the time I spent on this stupid venture.