Right now I’m in the process of editing my manuscript and let me tell you, I would rather stand outside all day in the August heat and roast like a pig on a spit.
I suspect I’m in the stage of writing that involves utter hatred of one’s own work. I’m not kidding. I don’t even like to look at it for fear that my brain might implode. I go through all kinds of crazy emotions when I think about my manuscript (frustration, annoyance, embarrassment). And most of all, I think that maybe I should definitely throw it in the back of the closet in hopes that I never have to lay eyes on it again.
The funny thing is, I went through the exact same thing with my last manuscript, POS#1. I thought it was complete junk when I finished the first edit so I threw it in the back of the closet, but now, after looking over it again I’ve decided to rework it as soon as I’m done editing Brilliant Idea #2.
Apparently, my relationships with my manuscripts go something like this:
Then, I toss it in the back of my closet and ban it from memory until I stumble across it again a year later.
There’s definitely a pattern forming here. I just need to finish editing these two manuscripts before Blow Your Mind Idea #3 comes along and upends everything.