Last week when i wrote a post, I was mentally and physically exhausted. I had hit a wall. I was running on empty. I had no spoons left. So I gave myself permission to not write that week.
Funny thing happened once I did that. I began to write. I started a new short story and prepped The Tenth Life for submission. It could fall under the heading of waxing the cat, but it broke loose something inside. I’m working on Chaos Wolf again.
I’m at that stage of writing where I am sure that Chaos Wolf sucks. And worse, there is a lurking suspicion that I can’t make it not suck. I’m not talking about making it an excellent book. I’m talking about getting it to the stage where it’s acceptable. This is a lie. Intellectually, I know it’s a lie. Emotionally, I am sure it’s the absolute truth. So I let the feedback sit there for over two months before I could open the file and look at it.
I still haven’t figured out what triggers that thought pattern, other than exhaustion. Last week was a rocky week at work and at home, but this problem goes further back than that. Depression? Part of the process? I’m not sure.
Right now I’m back into work mode. While Chaos Wolf still has flaws and needs some substantial rewrites in the back half, it’s not an unfixable mess. That is what I need to focus on.