Writing Wrongs

• One sentence at a time

• previous
• next
• current
• archive
• profile

• Got to get my moving on - July 23, 2007
  Stinky feet and eyeglasses - July 20, 2007
  Of birthdays and Bolers - July 15, 2007
  Weekend Boler update - July 14, 2007
  I am cougar, hear me roar? - July 14, 2007
  

• mail

• diaryland
• wet noodle posse

May 24, 2005

I�m trying really really, really hard to make this my mantra. Had a huge discussion with myself in my journal (not this one, the one on my handheld computer--I have something like five journals total) about how I�m at the point where I need a first draft of The Boys� Club. I need a bunch of words I can work with, scenes I can scrap or salvage a single paragraph from.

But I can�t do it. Do what? Write or think? Good question. I�ll get back to you on that. I do this with every rough draft in one form or another. It�s hard to write the sh*tty first draft (as Anne Lamott dubs it) when you�re a perfectionist. Or at least I am when it comes to writing. What�s weird is as much as I want it perfect right out of the gate, I like revising. It makes no sense, not even to me.

I truly think I need to go �underground� and write the rest of the draft without input. Sometimes I�m blindsided by an innocent comment. But sometimes the praise is worse, because I know however good that scene might be, the rest of the book can�t live up to it.

So this is what writers are. Neurotic. When you�re published, you get paid for being neurotic. Nice. Granted, I know a few who have this whole Zen thing going on. I swear, nothing bothers them. I know a couple who fake the Zen thing really well. The rest of us? Neurotic.

In other news, some D-land types were talking kids and accidents, and how sometimes these things just happen. Well, last night, Kyra and Andrew were playing in the laundry on the bed (don�t ask), and I was sweeping up dog kibble (don�t ask), when a howl came from the bedroom followed by some serious big-boy sobs. Seems the back of Kyra�s head smashed into Andrew�s nose. For about five minutes I thought a trip to the ER was in our future, but the pain passed quickly and there was barely any blood. This morning, his nose is a bit fatter, but that�s it.

I was going to try to tie laundry, or dog kibble, or broken noses into my �write, don�t think� theme, but I got nothing. I don�t even have a sh*tty first draft.

Charity Tahmaseb wrote at 12:24 p.m.

|