“The scariest moment is always just before you start.” – Stephen King
I had to hand write an entire chapter the other day. Yes, an entire chapter, that’s what I said. It took me about seven hours and I have to say my hand cramped, a lot.
Tons. I am out of practice.
At one point, I had to physically straighten my finger due to it being stuck in a hook-like position. Then I had to hold my knee down, as it was shaking uncontrollably, because of the reaction to the discomfort I was feeling throughout my arm. I wrote the chapter out, because I had decided to work through the pain of my thoughts by creating pain somewhere else; or because our monitor suddenly went black and I didn’t know how to fix it so I took the pen to paper.
I love the first reason better, but honestly it was the latter.
What would that say about me if I’d decided to inflict a small amount of pain upon myself for the greater good of the story?
I’m at a rough point in the story I’m writing. I’ve agreed with myself (nice, I know) to be in a dark place in order to give the character the attention she needs. I’m thrilled to be at this point, but I’m also becoming aware of how it affects me.
I am a sponge to emotion right now and clearly in need of some excuses to give up. To walk away from her, Amelia, and her lack of good judgement. We’re heading down a road together clearly marked for disaster and I hope she’ll survive. I’m invested in her path, agreeing with her choices so far and I’ve stayed with her a long time.
I don’t want to give up on her and I want to see this story through to the end.
So it disappoints me now that I can see the detour ahead and the grace she’ll need as she fights herself and her reality. I can see she’ll need her readers to forgive, understand and eventually believe in her once again.
She’ll go through guilt, a lot of it. I’m not sure she’ll get to where she needs to be to accept what is hers to take.