This first draft is going to kill me.

It’s almost the end of a tough two weeks, and boy, I can’t wait. I finally sat down to write for the first time in days, finally found a comfortable position that I can type and hold my sleeping daughter at the same time. I wrote for fifteen minutes, and my story is going in a whole different direction, that I’m not sure I like yet, but I’m going to see where it takes me–or them. Both of us.

I just want to sit in a library with a coffee and pound it out in two hours. If I had a solid two hours of silence I know I could finish this story–then I could edit the shit out of it because I kind of hate it.

That felt good to say. I hate my first draft.

But I love the idea! I love the overall theme! I know I can save this story, it just needs to end first.

So, in a few days, I’m going to march myself to the library and check out mentally for a while, just really let the words bubble out of me. I don’t even care how it ends, it just has to.


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