I just finished reading a very good book. The author’s breakthrough novel. I usually don’t read those. Jealousy. Pure and simple. I am jealous of their success and wish to myself I would unstick myself and really pursue writing like I wanted it. Angry, and disappointed in myself. It dawned on me just now…Why I don’t pick up my novel and finish it. I’m afraid it’ll be crap as I read it. It is mid-edit currently. All my notes are there, I just need to type them into the story. It’s very nearly finished, except for typing up this edit, and probably two more. But that will be easy. The edits I have sitting there are tough ones, and I’m afraid when I pick up the manuscript and start working I will realize how bad it truly is.
Ridiculous! Why in the world should I be afraid it’s no good. Of course it’s good! I’m a pretty fair wordsmith. I think the story is interesting. I may need to round out my characters, but I think that will come in the final edits.
So short and sweet of it is, I just grabbed the manuscript and started to read.
It’s not too bad. Some of it might be a little flat maybe, but there’s an interesting story to tell. I’ll have to see what happens when I start working on it. Gotta go, there’s lots of work and I might be getting excited. More tomorrow…