So my girlfriend, who is a hop, skip, and a jump away from getting herself published (the bitch), wants me to edit her manuscript before she sends it off to her agent.That's all well and good. I don't mind. Part of me actually gets a contact high from doing it, given that she's so much closer to our shared goal than I am.
But, at the same time, I'm nervous.
As a writer, I know all too well what it's like to have someone take your baby, that you've put your blood, sweat and tears into, and hand it back a few days later, looking like a three year old has attacked it with crayons.
Editing, and being critiqued, makes us better writers. But it's till painful to have your child ripped to shreds by someone that doesn't know it like you do, and could never love it as well as it deserves.
Writers are parents, no matter what anyone says. And as a parent, I feel guilty criticizing Ali's.
It is pretty fun though.
In other news, NaNoWriMo started at midnight last night.
For those that don't know, NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month. In a nutshell, you write 50,000 words in 30 days, or die trying.
Deadlines are good. Deadlines make you accountable to something or someone, so that you stop slacking off. Deadlines make me feel like I'm going to hyperventilate.
Honestly, it's not even the time constraint. I could write that much (probably more) in a month, no sweat. It's the thought of finishing something. Because if I finish something, I have to try and get it published. And that's the scary part.
That's why I envy Ali's bravery. Sending out your baby for the world to reject is terrifying.
I'm determined to do it though. I can't keep living like this. With a giant "What if?" hanging over my head. This is no way to live. No way to know what I'm made of. Because right now, all I'm made of is cowardice.
"Put down everything that comes into your head and then you're a writer. But an author is one who can judge his own stuff's worth, without pity, and destroy most of it."
ReplyDeleteWe're helping each other become authors.
It's true that it hurts. A lot.
But it's either facing the hurt or facing an empty nothing.
I don't want any more nothing and neither do you so we grind ourselves against the stone in hopes of being polished.
I'm really thankful it's you driving the first stone against my skin.
See how annoying you are? You're even a beautiful writer when responding to my whiny blog posts. Dork. :-P
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