Y'know, writing is therapy you don't have to pay for. And, if you spill your guts, it may even pay you.
Sounds like a good deal, right? (No pun intended.)
All we have to do is bleed copiously for the amusement of the reading public. That takes bravery, honesty, and luck. But not the kind of luck you think.
We're really lucky to be living in the midst of all these crises going on right now. Readers want to get involved with characters they can identify with, and who they can see fighting against tough odds. And winning. That helps them feel like winners, too.
Ultimately, we're charged with a sacred trust - tell a good story that people can believe in. It's awe-inspiring and exciting, all at the same time.
On a personal note, I've been going through a lot of crap lately. And I can't resent it. I can only be thankful because it provides such rich fodder for fiction. That's a true gift.
I spent several hours with a writing friend of mine yesterday, and I was able to make my pages from Wednesday to today. Whew! I'm still working on the catch-up, though.
I slipped into editor mode and cut some things that I didn't feel comfortable with. I thought some scenes/chapters slowed things down. I prefer to jump into the middle of things, so that's what I went back to doing. I feel better about the pacing, but it's gonna take a helluva rethink for some other pieces.
So, back to the salt mines!
See everyone on Wednesday...