Today was one of those days when everything felt depressing.
At this point, I’ve completed half of the book. To understand why this depressed me, here’s a bit of background for you.
I finished the draft a few weeks ago, sent it to my developmental editor, and got some good feedback. Yet once I started adapting the story, I realized that I can’t shuffle and reshape what I already have. I needed to go back to the very beginning and rewrite the first half. So, this is where I am now: at the midway point, with a lot of new writing behind me. And then a moment came along – honestly, this doesn’t happen all that often – when I thought: Why? Why am I doing this? Who cares about this novel in the first place? Whether I write it or not, it won’t make any difference to the world whatsoever.
I spent a quarter of an hour staring at a candle (I love writing by candlelight, especially in winter), feeling sorry for myself.
And then, I started writing again.
Because, in the end, that is what I love doing. Writing. Telling stories. Even if I’m the only one who ever reads them. (You see, still a bit depressed 😉 Don’t worry, I’ll cheer up soon)
P.s. About the title: I recently listened to a podcast by Joanna Penn at Creative Penn where she quotes Rand Fishkin: “Is the juice worth the squeeze?” Basically, are we (writers) getting enough out of the process (of writing) to ultimately release a book? Is it all worth it? I thought, with today’s subject, this is just the right title ;-p
