Butterflies (Or First Drafts: Sarah Style)

When I first started writing, I read a lot of books about (would you believe it) writing. Among them was Seize The Story, by Victoria Hanley. I highly recommend this book -- it gave me the perfect combination of inspiring advice and kick in the pants that got me through Sarawen. But today, I'd like to quote the only sentences that I do not relate to.

"I dread starting a new book the way I'd dread living in the middle of an especially disturbing nightmare. Getting through that first draft feels very much like clawing my way through solid rock using only my fingernails."

This image caught my fancy so much that I have it heavily underlined in my copy of the book. It was my mantra as I launched each failed beginning, my solace when I began to believe that I could never make it. "So what if it's terrible?" I'd tell myself. "All first drafts are terrible, and none of them are fun. If I just make it to the end, then I can revise! That's the fun part."

I'm not sure when I realized just how ridiculous that was. It might have been Christmas Eve of 2009, when I stayed up until two in the morning wrapping presents, and then pulled out my laptop to get just a few more words in before bed. It might have been in March 2010, when I wrote my first love scene, a scene that made my mother cry. It was surely before that October day when I wrote my first 8k day and crested the climax of the book. It doesn't really matter when I realized it, because it's true.

I love first drafts.

Are they hard? Yes. Are they long? Yes. Do I sometimes stare at the stationary, blinking cursor until I'm sure my eyeballs are bleeding? Absolutely. But with all the pain, with all the heartache and the frustration, there is nothing more beautiful than watching your precious story take shape before your eyes. It's magical. It gives me butterflies.

On November first, I started my new novel, A Winters Tale. The first day was agony. The second was better. On the seventh, I fell in love. I wrote a scene so glorious, it kept me up three hours past my bedtime. I danced all the way to bed and rose in the morning with a song in my heart. That scene stayed with me all day, glowing somewhere near my abdomen. I wanted to curl around it and never let it go. I wanted to share it with the world.

Three days later, I am rattled. I am vexed. I may even be frothing at the mouth. Why, you ask? Today, I reached a scene that WILL NOT WRITE! I am currently beating it into submission, abusing my poor keyboard in my fury. But beneath it all, the glow is still there. I am a writer. And this is what I love.

THE WALL

Okay, I admit it.

I have hit THE WALL.

It's that point when you look at your WIP and you say ... "Oh, ice. What have I done?" (At least, you say that if you're me. Because I, uh, pick up some in-world language from my characters.) And then? Then you put your head on the keyboard and cry. That wild, intoxicating rush that Horizons once was.

It's gone. And I can't help but feel like it's gone forever. How did I do this, I ask myself. How did I manage to dig myself such a deep hole while writing so joyously?

The truth is, I was ignoring the problems. I should have noticed when that one thread started to feel a little awkward. I should have realized that I couldn't wait to get away from my MC, and I should have fixed the problem right then. But I didn't. And now I have 15,000 wasted words that I need to replace with new ones.

Okay, that looks really pathetic written out like that. But it is DEVASTATING. Perhaps it's that I'm ill, or that I have the constant stress of school looming over my head, but lately every word feels like it's being wrenched from my brain with a ... wrench, probably. What else is good for wrenching?

I don't think I've ever felt this discouraged by my writing. I'm so discouraged, in fact, that I did NOTHING today -- or I guess it's yesterday now. Despite my many looming self-imposed deadlines, I spent the whole day checking my Facebook and catching up on other people's blogs. And chatting with crit partners/best friends, because honestly? That IS what keeps me alive right now. (Warmth knows I can't eat enough food to do the job.) (One of these crit partners, by the way, is reading the climax of Sarawen AS I WRITE THIS. And it's 3:30 AM her time. And she has triplet babies to help care for. I am awed by the awesomeness of Lisa.) (Also, I freaking love her to pieces. Although that seems a little violent for someone who is going on 4 hours of sleep for me. For the second time in ... what is it? A week?)

So yeah. I am at the point where random shadows on the wall seem to say 'You suck. Your writing sucks. You are never going to be anything close to anything.' (And even my evil voices don't usually say 'suck', because I have a particular grudge against that word.) Getting through these next weeks ... well, it's not going to be fun.

But at the same time, I am so lucky. No, I'm not lucky. I'm BLESSED. And when I find myself starting to complain ... I'll probably keep complaining. But I won't for one second forget how wonderful my life is. Even when I hate it.

Life is wonderful. You are all wonderful. Please don't let me forget.