I send a few pictures to my friends at the tail-end of my writing session. They are selfies captioned with expressions of my anxiety at the mess that this story might be . . . like half young teenage gay fluff and half unhealthy PTSD coping mechanism? How do you write characters again? Can I have a tropey baking cookies scene and still call myself a real writer? How many panic attacks is too many panic attacks? Dreams are overrated … so here’s a million of them?
I’m heavy lifting some scenes in this final part – less rewriting and more just writing. That’s what happens when you realize a major character arc needs to change just as you finish the final scene of your trash draft.
I’m also at that fun deadline point where I just need to be writing all the time to get this done. I work in ebbs and flows, consistently was always a strange color on me.
Feeling the fervor now.
Here are the last sentences I wrote this past week:
- 8/13: Where was Mason before?
- 8/14: Either way, I’m grateful when he grabs his backpack and sets up at the table, seriously content to work on homework.
- 8/15: I’m coming to get you.
- 8/16: I memorize it instead.
- 8/17: This time she really does leave.
- 8/18: He always picks up.
- 8/19: The tree splits the engine, the windshield, and me before I wake up.
With Love,
Natalie