Struggle struggle struggle.
When did it become this hard? Has it always been? Between work, family issues, struggling with money, and having to move yet again, you’d think writing would brighten my day.
But not so much lately.
The first novel I ever wrote was my emotion right on the page. I was living under a cloud and somehow that book was written. It’s not a good book, but writing it made me happy. It made me feel something other than sad. It might the light crack through my dark and emotional cloud. It was my first novel. My first love.
My novel that my agent took me on for only took me a few months to write. Somehow it just happened. It was like I wasn’t writing it, but some new Kyra in my head appeared and wrote the story for me. I fell in love with my characters. And I even felt great about the story. {maybe not so much now}
This recent novel has been…such a bitch. It’s killing me. Yes, sometimes when I get a good groove going I feel happy, and proud, and think maybe it is working.
But then I re-read and the worry and stress floods back into me and I decide I just suck. And that I’m not a real writer, but just a pretender.
Like my first novel I am stuck under a cloud, but unlike that first novel this cloud is a lot darker. And I’m struggling.
Where’s the sun ?
How do you get out?
How do you make it work?
How do you fall in love with your story, and your characters, and everything else?
Writing is hard.
I love it. But sometimes I don’t.
Throwing Up Words 