I know…please forgive me…and stand there and make sure I write…I seriously need your supervision 😉
So, here’s the dealio: I have a few (read WAY too many) WIPs on the go all at once. The reason being I get bored easily, VERY easily. I’ll be writing one, but I reach about 20,000 words or so and the stories seem to become rather lacklustre to me. It’s also about the same time that my self-doubt kicks in (in a HUGE way).
You know the drill:
Why are you doing this?
Why do you even think you can?
Your writing stinks!
Why don’t you just give up?
You’ll never be able to write like (insert famous author’s name here).
So, I stop. I shelve the story (albeit on my desktop so it can taunt me every time I turn the computer on) and there it sits, marinating, so to speak.
Of course, I can’t bring myself to actually stop writing, so I get a new, shiny, bright idea and start to run with that. Until I reach that magical 20,000 word mark, and self-doubt comes crashing through the door like a tornado on steroids.
Can you say: Vicious Cycle?
(Pun fully intended *snort*)
Anyway, last night I re-opened one of my early WIPs which sat on the desktop languishing for the last six months or so. This one actually made it to 25, 589 words before it got shelved. I re-read it, all of it, and yes, it had many glaring problems, but all-in-all, it wasn’t as horribly awful as I thought it would be.
So, project for now is to pick up where I left off with “Reliant” and, hopefully, I can write another 25,000 words before my old nemesis Self-Doubt raises his ugly head again.
And, I have added a little snippet of a section I particularly liked (I’m just a tiny bit biased LOL):
Snippet from “Reliant” (by S.M. Hocking)
Hot sweat slides between my shoulder blades, helping to cool my back as I push myself harder down the beach. There’s just something about going for a run that calms the senses, especially in a place as beautiful as this.
To my right is the Pacific Ocean, its turquoise waters snaking up the glittering sand in frothy fingers, greedily snatching at my bare ankles. The soft, white silica sand beneath my feet squeaks with every step I take, professing its rare purity. To my left, Pandanus Palms with their spiky foliage and thick branches provide ample shade for other beach goers, as well as act as sturdy climbing frames for some of the more adventurous kids. Behind the palms, mansions loom, their balconies as wide as the buildings themselves in order for the occupants to enjoy the spectacular ocean views. Some of the yards even stretch down as far as the edge of the sand. Not that I can see anyone out on their balconies or in their yards.
How many of these people really enjoy their view? Or are they working their backsides off all the time in order to pay for them? What a waste.