I am at that horrible, seemingly inevitable stage of writing my novel when I become convinced that my plot doesn’t work, my characters are lost, and that I am a talentless fraud and that this will be the book that outs me (I know there are many of you reading this blog who believe that already happened long ago). Coincidentally, today the royalty statements for my first three MONK novels arrived along with the contracts for my next two. It didn’t help. It only added to my anxiety.
My brother called me tonight just to say hello… and I unloaded on him.
He just sighed and said "You say this shit every two months. You said it when you were at this same point in your last book and the one before that and the one before that and the one before that. And they all turned out fine."
I know that he’s right, but it doesn’t help or make the writing any easier. Tonight, I suck. But I will keep writing and rewriting and agonizing and procrastinating (by posting on my blog) until it becomes fun again.
I guess that’s what makes me a professional. Or a fool who is deluding himself.