Here's where I really think this is going. What's happening here is a result of the tragedy of knowing too much. Here's what I know: I'm not a good writer. And by that, what I mean is I'm not producing stuff that makes industry professionals touch their chin and go, "Hmm, that's good." Now, I've been not a good writer for quite some time, but I didn't know it before. I was blissfully unaware of my own literary stench, and now that I know it's paralyzing. Because I care. I didn't used to care, and that was fine because I was young and just starting out, and I knew that it was only a matter of time and some hard work before I really, honestly would be good. It's just taking such a long time, and the work ethic is not there. I had it for a while, and then school. Then family. Then new episodes of 30 Rock and It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. So I sit down to write something that I think could be really good, but it's not good because 1. nothing is ever good on the first draft, and 2. I am a whole lot of time and effort away from being good. I don't work hard. I just want it to be good the first time so I don't have to go back and fix it again and again and again. And when it doesn't come out just right the first time, I get frustrated and all my creativity retreats far back into the part of my brain responsible for remembering high school Algebra (i.e. the part of my brain that doesn't work).
Wow, I don't even remember what semblance of motivation I was supposed to pull out of this. Oh yeah - it's not going to be good the first time. Just accept it, and move on. Write the thing. I know you want it to be good (trust me, I do know), but you just have to get something down, and later you can go back and spend years painstakingly rearranging it so that people don't want to vomit when they try to read it (although, there are some books like that out there right now, and boy are they popular). Write it. Write a bad novel. Worse case scenario: it will always be good for a laugh. I wrote a hideous piece of Medieval fiction when I was 19. It took me nine months, it was 100 pages, single spaced, and it was all I could ever think about. Even had one of my friends proof read it for me. It is truly horrible, but I love that book. You never regret writing a bad novel. What you may regret is not writing a bad novel, because in the back of your mind you will always think, "what if it would have been good?"
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