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The language is leaving me

I have every intention of completing edits/rewrites to "Black" by the end of the month. It's just going to require a bit of pep-talk. That guy from the Adam Sandler movies comes to mind: "Yoooo can doooooo eet!" Yeah.


While I still hold a distilled essence of that renewed vigor -- I did it once, I can do it again, dammit -- I've reached that point where I'm getting sick of looking at it. It sucks. All of it sucks, and I should just scrap the whole damned thing and be done with it. Start over from scratch with a fresh and invigorating idea and --

Right about here is where I tell myself to shut the fuck up and get my sorry ass back to editing. Whining about it doesn't get it finished. There are other projects out there, other stories that want written, need told.  This one comes first, though. I refuse to give up on it. I have that -- what would one call it, precisely?  Bulldog mentality. I don't give up even when I know I probably should. I don't fight and flail. No drama here. (Nope. That there wasn't drama. I don't whine. Nope.) I just sink my teeth in and hang on for all I'm worth.

I'm acutely aware that this is just... part of the process, another facet of a story's development. The "IT'S SHIT. SRSLY." stage. Also known as "OMG WTF am I writing?!" Just have to work my way through it anyways, and believe the perspective will prove wrong when I finally reach the other side. The words and images are still coming to me, but I've been slaving over this on and off for so long, that the language is beginning to feel stale, the colors are fading, the lines blurring.  It's losing its polish. I struggle to hold the original vision firmly and clearly in my mind's eye.

(I am NOT whining, lol.)

Back to editing, for me.

[12:15 p.m. ETA: Thus far today I have: gotten a haircut; started the laundry; taken a short nap. Words written? 0. Writing Machine has not even been turned on yet.]
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