I don’t much like it. And by ‘it’ I am referring to the moment when I open a story that I haven’t touched in ages with the intent to continue writing it.
In fact, there are three lines of thought that I have when I’m staring at that last written sentence:
- No. Just no. I can’t do this – I might disturb the genius [cough, cough] of the story. I haven’t a clue what I’m doing. In fact *closes word document* I’m going to do something else.
- I’m doomed. Completely. What was I thinking? What was I trying to say with that last paragraph? The heroine says … what? Goodness, I can’t even finish a paragraph. Nope. I’m not doing this. *closes word document*
- I could do this. I think. I’m just going to take a deep breath and plunge. Pop one word in front of the other. This is my story and if I muck it up then … then that’s fine. As long as I’m trying. As long as I’m writing. It’s going to be fine.