I’ve been sitting, staring at this page for the better part of an hour – or rather, glancing at it, then closing the window in disgust and going back to read about kittens and typewriter maintenance and eating boxes and boxes of crackers.
I feel like I’m being dragged out to my death in stormy seas by a vicious riptide, trying to write these days. The words just aren’t there. The ones I do manage to shovel out seem dull and uninspired. All I see when I write, is how much work editing is going to be.
I’m so close to finishing my first draft, and I feel like things should be different. If I’m not excited about writing the climax, will people be excited about reading it? None of my characters are getting along at the moment, and writing conflict is right up there with taking a cross-country trip on a bus with a broken toilet, for me. Right now I’m plugging my nose and praying I can make it to my destination.