Having to face my own writing and determine what parts of my blood and sweat should be taken out, replaced, destroyed or reworked... it's pain. Each word was wrenched out of ME. It's part of ME. How can I analyze it for flaws?
They say you should love yourself for who you are, but I have to edit who I am because I'm not a body. I'm a body of works, of words, of stories. All enhanced by caffeine.
While I write, I go full-on drama llama. I yell out that I suck so bad. I let my fabulous hubby correct me, and I argue with him.
When I edit, I have to face the truth.
What if I really DO suck? What if my writing really IS horrible? What if I was right?
I finished my edits of Too Wyrd today. I tried procrastinating at the halfway point, but I eventually got it done.
I ran through
narrow hallways, feeling the presence of something chasing me. In that dream
way, I couldn't tell you what it was chasing me, but I knew what it was. It was
a monster. Or several.
I ran, keeping
just ahead of the monsters in a way that can only happen in a dream. I could
feel the way the monsters reached for me, barely missing my back. But when I
threw a glance over my shoulder, there was nothing there.
I ducked around
a corner and stopped dead in front of an old wizard. He looked a lot like a
certain gray wizard from a certain story about a certain ring, but it wasn't the
same guy. This one had an eye patch over one eye, for one.
The wizard held
out a piece of parchment to me, and a raven-feather quill. I took it and looked
it over. It listed a bunch of random things, none of which stayed in my mind
once my eyes left the words.
I put a check
mark next to several of the items and handed back the parchment. The wizard
bowed his thanks, turned and walked away.
As soon as the
wizard left, I started running again. The monsters were behind me and had taken
up the chase again. But they were no longer the only things chasing me.
There were men
working with the monsters. I heard the yelling, growling and snuffling of their
chase, felt their claws graze my shirt.
I ran around a
corner and entered a huge warehouse storage room. I stared at the room for a
moment, surprised. It was filled with piles of grain. The different shapes and
colors told me that they were different kinds of grains, but I didn't recognize
any of them.
The monsters approached
the door and I ran into the room. I dodged behind one large pile of grain and
hid. I could hear the men and monsters looking for me as I edged around the
pile, digging my hand into the grain, searching for something. I wasn't sure
what I was looking for, just that I needed to find it.
Once I was far
enough away, and they were too close, I ran to the next pile of grain and did
the same thing. This time, I pulled a piece of paper out of the pile of grain.
I glanced at it and saw lines scratched on it, like symbols.
Over and over
again, I ran from one pile of grain to the next, digging for pieces of paper,
hiding from the monsters and the men. Soon, I had four pieces of paper clutched
in my fist. I bolted from the room and ran across the hall into another room.
As I ran, I saw
warriors running towards me. They looked like barbarians or Vikings. They
attacked the men and monsters on my heels. I slammed the door shut behind me,
somehow sure that they were here to protect, not me, but the pieces of paper.
The sounds of
battle frightened me, but they soon stopped. The door opened and the wizard
stood in the doorway, this time dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. He held out his
hand and I gave him the papers. They turned into silver pendants in his hand.
He checked each one against the check-marked list that I had filled out before.
“You are the
one,” he said. “I'm sorry.”
I sat up in my bed, cursing loudly.