I’ve finally climbed my way out of my flu fog and am feeling mentally more like my normal self, if not so much physically. I don’t get sick very often, but when I do, I get slammed. At least this year it didn’t turn into anything more serious, and I didn’t need antibiotics. I let myself sleep as much as I wanted to, and I think it really helped.
But. Now I’m staring at a big fat manuscript that needs to have more fat trimmed. I plan to work my ass off tonight and tomorrow in the hopes I’ll be able to get it back to my agent by the end of this week. It would be nice to go to Las Vegas for the weekend without the revisions hanging over my head.
I’m editing in hard copy right now, and there is something quite joyful about taking a purple pen (purple is my favorite ink color) and slashing needless words and phrases. There’s no more glorious feeling than writing CUT in big purple letters across a paragraph or two of useless backstory. But it’s also tedious, and I find myself alternating between loving the book and hating it. Right now I hate it. Everything about it seems wrong. The characters feel too “cartoony” (perhaps not a real word, but my agent uses it), the story feels contrived, and the writing seems stilted and overly formal. I know it’s not true, but that’s just how I feel today, and I hate when I get overly critical of myself. It accomplishes nothing except to make me crazy.
I need my writing mojo back. If you see it, let me know, and approach with caution… it bites.