While I was finishing off The Æther Collection sitting deep within stories I’d read and reread so many times they had begun to loose all meaning, trying to polish them into their final shape, I couldn’t wait to wrap everything up so I could get working on something new.
The idea of working on a fresh, first draft of a new story called to me. To be no longer polishing but just creating, with the excitement of new ideas and possibilities ready to be put onto the page.
Now, as I struggle to make the third act of my new book work, I remember exactly how hard it is to do a first draft. How sometimes forcing a few interesting idea into a clear narrative can be so frustrating. How wrestling character arcs and plot threads into shape feels like an impossible task. When you just want to get a first draft created to you can have that reassurance that the story works, and you’re not wasting your time of a bad idea that just won’t work. When your word count mocks you, convincing you you’ll never get this thing up to the length of a full novel.
Sometimes, I have to wonder about how hard it can be to please ourselves. Is it human nature not to be satisfied with the now? Or is it simply that there is so much out there worth doing that even while we’re engaged in one thing we’re thinking about the other things we enjoy but can’t do at the same time?
But either way, I’m writing. I couldn’t be happier. It’s weird how the things we love are still so fulfilling even when they are hard.