Dang it! I bit off wayyy toooo muuuuuchhh with this book. Yeah, that much. Really. I wish I could say what exactly, but I'm the sort of narcissist that thinks all of her ideas are the best in the world and that everyone, Everyone, will want to steal them.
And so I must hoard. Anyways, I got 80 pages into the first draft and then freaked. Yesterday, I came to a stand still. I'm not putting scenes on the time line they should be on. Why? Because of my just-go-for-it attitude. As I writer, I think its mostly a good thing. I shove my feet into my writing boots (there is no cap) and make a run for it.
Well, I think I ran too fast. Again, I know that's vague, but I can't bait the idea thieves, or they'd be in for the hunt. So I'm stopped now, looking down the path that is my novel. Only its obscured. Its overgrown, and I can't get through. I must run backwards. But how far back will I go?
I'm considering starting over. Gasp! The shame! No. Ya know what? No shame. I'm standing up for my writerly kind write here write now! We are sooooo misunderstood.
Singers get to have songs they never perform. Painters get to screw up and cover it up or start over. So writers get to too! I don't want to, trust me I really don't. But because this book is one big ol' bite that I just can't get down, I'm gonna have to slow down my walk.
Ohhh...maybe I should get flip flops! Maybe my path should be on the beach. That's right. I'll do this island style. Except that this island fires me up/recharges me/sparks me (you get it). Whatever it does, it does not slow me down. This will have to be a conscious effort on my part.
So with that, I'm donning my bikini and flip flops and goin with my baby to the beach. Literally.
There is never any going back once one is on the path. It's just a detour and all detours lead back to the main road. You'll be okay, especially in those flip-flops.
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