Dear manuscript,
I hate you.
I loathe you.
You are the bane of my existence, that which tortures me through every breath.
You fill me with despair, with anger, with frustration.
Still.
The line dividing love and hatred blurs. They are woven together with a common thread.
Passion.
It is for you that I wake an hour early, drag myself to the computer and stare at the screen through sleepy eyes.
It is for you that I stay up an hour late, lying in bed, staring at the shadowed ceiling, my mind consumed with thoughts of you.
Repairing you.
Polishing you.
Making you great.
And I will. Make you great, that is. I will not rest until you shine.
I will mold you into something wonderful, and I will love you.
All I need is time.
I hate you.
I loathe you.
You are the bane of my existence, that which tortures me through every breath.
You fill me with despair, with anger, with frustration.
Still.
The line dividing love and hatred blurs. They are woven together with a common thread.
Passion.
It is for you that I wake an hour early, drag myself to the computer and stare at the screen through sleepy eyes.
It is for you that I stay up an hour late, lying in bed, staring at the shadowed ceiling, my mind consumed with thoughts of you.
Repairing you.
Polishing you.
Making you great.
And I will. Make you great, that is. I will not rest until you shine.
I will mold you into something wonderful, and I will love you.
All I need is time.
* * * * * * * * * *
Memory is a funny thing. When I was drafting Temper I was desperate to be done. I couldn't wait to get into revisions. Polishing the words already on the page. It all seemed so easy.
Now I'm in the thick of it and wondering what possessed me to feel that way before.
I think back to the time I spent writing the first draft and my memories are fond. Now I'm itching to be there again. In the creating stage. I have pages upon pages of ideas, all of them begging to be written, yet here I am, slogging through this mess of words.
My fingers long for the freedom of drafting. They are restless. They do not like moving slowly through each paragraph, debating commas and contemplating the difference between scamper and scurry.
So which do you like better?
Writing that first draft or revising?
And does it change, depending on your progress or you mood?
Writing that first draft or revising?
And does it change, depending on your progress or you mood?
Also, this is really random, but I so hope your books get published-- you're hilarious and your WIPs sound awesome! They would totally make my "(whatever year it happens to be) anticipated books"!!!! :]