I got mad after my 1st draft; it felt like my soul went up and walked out of the room, turned its back and waved goodbye; becuase i had used every last ounce that was the soul that left me, and the only way i could get it back was to write again.
As I near the completion of my first novel, I’m finding my level of anxiety increasing. Which didn’t make any sense, shouldn’t I be excited to be this close to the end?
It’s because the story is at its climax. It’s because I’m juggling too many things. My explanations for the feeling were endless, at first. But even as I came up with them, I knew they weren’t the reasons. Just couldn’t put my finger on what was. Until the other day, when I sat in front of my laptop and realization hit.
It was fear.
The reality is that once this story is done, I will find out if it’s worthy. Isn’t that weird? I love my story and the characters have become a part of me. But in the end, it’s not if I like it as much as if the agents, publishers, and readers do. I was…
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