My manuscript, that is. I'm currently reading Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird. One chapter is all about sh**** first drafts (yes that's really how the author called it in her book) . I've just finished my sh*** first draft and now working on the second draft. The first time, after more than 3 weeks of 'hiding' it in my drawer, I've had a look at it, I couldn't make myself to read it. It felt like I've wasted months and months of hardwork. I've written rubbish. There's no story at all, just a collection of senseless chapters! I wonder if all writers feel this way?
It's weird but I had goosebumps on the back of my head. Then I thought of the film, The Neverending Story, where the characters in the book are dying. The only thing that can keep them alive are the children reading their story. Without them, the story doesn't exist.
In my weird 'vision' in the loo, it was as if my main character was telling me that if I don't write about him, he'll die. He will never exist. Oh, God.
So I replied (in whispers of course, or my husband who was in the living room would definitely come to a conclusion that I still talk to myself in the mirror - this time in the loo!) Okay, then, I will finish your story. I will write about you. I will tell them your story.
And now, I'm back to work. Yes, doing the second draft. I hope this comes out good, that in the end it will not be as sh****...so, help me, God!
How about you? Have you ever felt this way? Like your story is going nowhere? Did you feel like what you've written was all rubbish?