A week ago I was thcilsose to never writing again.
it happened after finishing the rewrites on chapter 19 of Human Touch. I reread the story, and was mortified. It was dark, depressive. The main characters were merely pod people of their former selves. The parts I loved the most, what I loved the most ceased to exist.
When that happened, it hit me like an atomic bomb. The story I had loved so much was obliterated. So much so, I had to turn my back on it. On writing. I couldn’t even stand looking at anything I had done. It was all crap and I needed a distance.
Thank Heavens for things like retail therapy and art journaling. Anything to keep my hands and mind busy… And off of Disaster Land.
Musical scores from movies came into play…something about the wordless music allows me to think… And it clicked as to why I was so unhappy.
i was writing my story for so many others and no longer for myself. The more I tried to make someone else happy, the more I lost my story, the more I lost myself. If I didn’t have my heart in it, then why was I writing anything? And it hit me… Write this story from the beginning. Start it with something cheery and nice, because this story was always supposed to be a fun read, a fluffy YA paranormal romance. A few dark or dramatic bits here and there for the sake of having interest… Just nothing as dramatic and dark as what it had become.
Now this story has a new beginning. It’s almost like it was put into a witness protection program. The characters are back with a vengeance, and the story is being told in my way incorporating some of the advice that others have given me. After a chapter and a half, I feel that it’s been redeemed and will come out better than ever. Word counts be damned.