This week I am sharing an honest reflection of how the past couple of weeks of writing has gone for me.
I am finally writing the part of my book that the story was inspired by. Each day I give myself a word count goal and do whatever it takes to get it done. Some days that means writing for a half hour three different times. Other days it’s killing two birds with one stone and walking while writing. Or it’s four hours of straight writing with a few breaks sprinkled throughout.
In the past ten days I’ve written about 11,000 words, which is more than I’ve ever written in a month since starting this book. So what’s changed? Why am I able to write more now? I stopped creating detailed scene cards for each scene and started using a loose outline as a guide instead. I also stopped editing as I wrote and stopped trying to write pretty.
While that shift has helped me move forward, it has also brought me into a daily battle with my inner gremlin, Greta. Every single day after writing I feel both accomplished and discouraged. It’s as if Greta grows louder with each word I put down. Whenever I tell myself how proud I am for hitting my goal, Greta is right there saying, “Yeah, but the writing sucked. It’s too simple. It’s ugly.” When I let myself say how much I love this story and can’t wait to finish it, she responds with, “It’s not original. It’s been done before.”
There have been times when I read a little of The Bird’s Nest by Shirley Jackson and come back to my draft only for Greta to greet me with, “You’ll never be as good as her. Just give up. Why bother? The chances of getting traditionally published are next to none.”
The inside of my head is chaos. Between living in my story and my constant knife fights with Greta, it can be a lot. But each day I show up despite the noise and doubts, I am teaching myself that I do belong.
I’ve also printed out everything I’ve written so far and will keep doing that with each chapter. It’s a physical reminder of everything I’ve accomplished. My manuscript receipts, I like to call them. I keep reminding myself that I didn’t come this far to only come this far.
Bottom line…I absolutely love my story, and a huge piece of my heart is being written into it. I will finish this book and get it published. I don’t know if that means traditionally or self-publish. I don’t know what the future holds, but I do know this: all I have is now.
So I will keep showing up even though Greta will be waiting for me, knife in hand. And if I show up and fight back enough times, I know I can kill that bitch. Like I said before, I will be the final girl of my own story.