I suppose I’ve moved from ‘excited’ to ‘scared’.
The manuscript sits, perched on top of my color printer, looking monstrous and heavy and too large to weild. I haven’t looked at it since I placed the last of the tab dividers on Chapter 21. As I was writing, headlong towards the finish, editing seemed like it would be the easiest and most enjoyable thing I could imagine.
Again – I stop, and I lose momentum.
I had hoped, still do, to play around this week with other ideas. I have a short story idea brewing away, even opened my previous attempt of it to refer to while I write. I’m working on a language clinic that’s growing it’s own setting and a book on passive writing that I’m working through. There’s also my 2YN which feels, and properly so, like a snail’s pace. I don’t know if I can just let it sit there and develop over two years! How can you let a story linger that long, before it becomes nothing like what you felt the first time you imagined it?
Hasn’t helped that I’ve been sick, just a little. Sore throat, hellish time sleeping, besides the animals.
I need a schedule. I NEED A SCHEDULE. Fuck, I’m a puss. I really am.