It’s like dating. That first date you are giddy and nervous and everything is new and exciting. You anticipate that first kiss and when it happens, you sparkle like SM’s vampires (Okay couldn’t resist that, hehe) but really, its all about the discovery, right.
At the halfway point, maybe he’s sleeping over a few nights a week. Leaving dirty socks on the floor, the toilet seat up, and snoring so loud the neighbors are shooting you dirty looks when you tip toe out to grab the paper. You wonder if you can see it through. If it’s worth it to plow forward. Is there is really man-gold at the end of this dark tunnel?
This is where am. The dreaded middle of my WIP. Trying to decide if this relationship with my characters is worth seeing through. Can I live with the dirty socks and snoring? Can I finish this book and make it into something that can sell? That someone else will want? I go back and reread, do some cleaning up and editing, ie, pick up dirty socks and put the toilet seat down for the bazillionth time.
And then something magical happens. I start getting excited. I read what I wrote and realize it’s pretty good. It’s got depth and life and I am enjoying actually reading it. Suddenly I’m being served breakfast in bed while getting a foot massage. I don’t have to do my hair or put on make-up to impress him. It’s comfortable, but there is still that air of discovery. Of wondering what the next page holds. I have to see it through so I know what happens.
So I sit back down, the words start to flow again, I get enthusiastic about my book again, and before I know it, the thing is complete and I can sit back, smile, look around at my dirty house and think about doing it all over again.
Why? Craziness maybe. Or it could be that new date thrill that comes with every new start. Every new idea. It’s a weird sort of writer’s crack.
What keeps you going? Why do you do it when it’s so easy to throw in the towel and swear off dating for life?