Last week was exhausting. Nationally and personally, emotionally and literally. My back hurts. My apartment is a mess. My area at work is a lively thoroughfare and a common space, an introvert’s nightmare. We’ve not seen in the sun in three days. Each time I ventured out this weekend I was either caught up in the tailgating crowds or trapped in parking lot purgatory. I feel stuck in an never-ending saga of rewrites and edits. On days like these I don’t wake up with moxie or verve. I have to peel my face off the pillow and put moxie on as a ritual, to wear it around my neck even (and especially) if I don’t feel it. The necklace above was a gift from one of my closest friends who knows me – and this struggle – very well. Thank you, friend – you know who you are! <3
My novel is technically “complete” – in fact, it’s over-complete at 160,000 words. In my understanding of the publishing industry, a manuscript is already long at 100,000, especially if it’s from a first-time author. A science-fiction novel is allowed to go longer, but not by much. So… my goal has been to cut extraneous phrases and sentences, line by line, to get as close as I can to the 100,000 mark – realistically 120,000. This means 40,000 has to go. A daunting task. I was making progress until I discovered two chapters weren’t included in the overall word count in Scrivener; the count was off by 5,000 words. Imagine my frustration and my panic and my desperation to figure out the technicalities of the program. Surely, it can’t be this long?
Well, it is. Now I understand how to track the word count and make sure EVERYTHING is included in the compile list. The writing life is usually a matter of two steps forward and three steps back. Delete a paragraph, put it back in. Create a character, take him out, give his lines to someone else. This setback immediately depleted my energy. It forced me to go back to the drawing-board. Wednesday, I went to a coffee shop after work instead of going home, urging myself to just look at it. I didn’t touch the novel until Saturday, and it was a so-so session at that. Frustrated and second-guessing myself, Sunday became a day of self-care – of sleeping in before church, making soup, lighting candles, napping, laundry and Brooklyn 99. (“Nine-nine!”) Honestly, “self-care” should be called “self-therapy” – it is that critical.
It is now Monday. The weather is still weepy and grey. I’m still anxious about this current round of edits. My computer screen is a smeary mess. The atmosphere is still charged and dangerous from the Kavanaugh hearings. I can’t say I’ll get much done tonight after work, but I’m going to show up at the page anyway and do my best. No matter the outcome, I’ve promised myself the first episode of Poldark season 4 as a reward.
Half the battle is showing up. Perseverance isn’t glamorous. Sometimes its weary. Sometimes it’s a downright mess. Sometimes you can’t see the forest for the trees. Wearing the moxie helps, whatever form that may take.
Stay the course. Be brave. Be kind to yourself. We can do this.
