I’ve been working on a book. Okay, yes, I have several books in progress, but this one has been in my mind for years. So with this one my brain shorted out and I wrote the opening while channelling a repressed, repetitive inner child. Several people commented that it didn’t sound like Gail Faulkner wrote it. It sounded like someone trying to be Gail Faulkner wrote it. AAAAAKKKKKKK
I had no idea what to do with that. So I tried to be more me. Yeah, that’s like trying to look sober when you’re not. It never works. Or so I’ve heard.
I’m not sure what this condition is called but its related to writers block, just add stupid and there ya have it. Needless to say, it is discouraging. Finally I gave in and rewrote the beginning, changing the events, not just the words. My critique partner has it. If this round is still stupid the dang thing goes in the drawer. Ninety seven thousand words of garbage. La deep sigh.
Above is simply random sharing with no real purpose except grumpy writer angst.