As a rule a man’s a fool,
When its hot he wants it cool,
When its cool he wants it hot,
Always wanting what is not.
(By the way, my sister managed to snag this plaque for her own office. I’m not bitter about that or anything.)
Anyway, I finally got down to working on my novel this morning. I’m walking a delicate line, trying to trim and edit the excesses of my protaganist’s voice without ruining what makes it charming. Not at all sure I’ve figured out how to do this in a way that satisfies me yet.
But. Now that I’ve actually worked on my novel for the first time in ages, its all I want to do. I think this is the true reason why I resist writing–not because I don’t like it, but because I like it too much. I’m afraid I’ll be so pulled into it that I’ll ignore eveything else, like paying assignments, for instance.
At this moment, none of that matters. It only matters that I wrote. All is right with the world again.