Last week, I spent an entire afternoon writing an opening chapter to a short story series I committed to.
I sat and battered the keys, words flowed from my mind onto the screen. I didn’t take a break, I didn’t stop every 5 minutes to mull over my words and correct the mistakes highlighted in red. No, I soldiered on. I took the bull by the horns and wrestled with it until I had written almost 2000 words.
Pleased with myself, I sat back in my swivel chair and grinned as I clasped my fingers and stretched them until they cracked.
The computer screen was littered with words, I had done what I set out to do. So, I decided that it was lunch time. Time to reward myself and stuff sandwiches and cream cakes down my gullet, followed by litres of steaming coffee.
A few hours later, I plonked myself back onto the swivel chair and decided to read what I had written. I was unimpressed. I didn’t feel what I was aiming for, I didn’t enjoy what I had written.
“God, you’re an awful writer”
I sat still for a moment and glowered at the offending text. What to do?
Needless to say, none of that text made it into the finished piece. Nope, it remains saved and unused in a folder of forgotten text files, most likely never to be read by anybody, ever.
The next day, like Groundhog Day, I sat in front of my computer and began to write and immediately knew that I was happy with my words and that this would be what people would get to see.
“Hey, you’re not too bad at this writing thing!”
I guess, like any profession, you have good days, bad days and downright irritating days.