Maybe you won't understand this, but I've been experiencing something wonderful. As I start to write each time, I like to go back a chapter or two-- just enough to find the loose thread of the story. I fight to keep my mind from nit-picky edits at this point, but I have to do this or I tend to lose my way.
Today, as I read the passage I blogged about a few days ago, I'm stunned by my reaction. Did those words really come from me? The quicker I step aside, allow the characters to speak for themselves, the deeper my response to my own work. I must forget how I would react in the same situation, how my friends will feel when they read these words, what my mother might think ...
I'm a weekend writer, and it's almost time to return to this fledgling world I've begun to craft. I struggle to stay away, only making furious notes as the week drags on.
The power or world building is intoxicating.
Call me addicted.
Today, as I read the passage I blogged about a few days ago, I'm stunned by my reaction. Did those words really come from me? The quicker I step aside, allow the characters to speak for themselves, the deeper my response to my own work. I must forget how I would react in the same situation, how my friends will feel when they read these words, what my mother might think ...
I'm a weekend writer, and it's almost time to return to this fledgling world I've begun to craft. I struggle to stay away, only making furious notes as the week drags on.
The power or world building is intoxicating.
Call me addicted.
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