I've been making good progress with the book. After spending the last few evenings smoothing some rough edges in the manuscript, I'm ready to move on with the action. I'd like to get it into some hands of a few readers before WFC, so I have to get crackin'. I'm hoping to write 20 pages over the weekend, which should be a pretty slick trick since I work. It's going to be a miserable, rainy weekend, so I'll have no excuses.
Reading my own writing is like riding a roller coaster. Sometimes I love it, sometimes I hate it, some lines I love one day but hate the next, some days I think I should scrap it all and forget it but most days I think I'll die if I quit writing.
A while ago--it's been about six months or so--I wondered how I'd feel if I made the decision to stop writing. Even just thinking that thoughts made me feel a bit panicky and empty inside. I figured that was enough of an answer for me.