Sometimes, I love my manuscript. I love my characters. I overlook all of my typos and spelling and grammatical errors. I love every single line.
Today is not one of those days.
Today is just...blech. I'm not letting myself touch my manuscript , because I'll probably end up deleting the majority of it. In fact, right now, I'm tempted to email my agent and ask her if she'd be willing to wait for another revision. The problem is, right now I feel like my project is such crap that no amount of revising would make it worthy of publication. That maybe, I should just ditch it and start on something new because this is never, ever going to be good.
And on these days, I'm good for absolutely nothing. I mope around the house and stalk people on Twitter and glare at my computer screen and talk to myself until my mother asks if I have a boy hidden in my closet and mope some more. Usually, in my darker moods, I retreat to my room and lose myself inside that hopelessly mangled place I call my head, and I'm all sunshiney again when I come back. But. I can't do that right now. Which sucks.
So. Now I'm here. Moping on my blog, waiting for inspiration. And maybe it's coming. Maybe it isn't, and I'll wake up tomorrow newly in love with my setting and characters and plot. But what I've realized through the many ups and downs of the writing process is that I can't give up. I've promised my characters that I'd tell their story. And so I will.
I just don't feel good enough to do that right now. So I'm going to go take a nap instead.
This past week, I was told that most authors don't like what they write. But I don't believe that. True, I don't know a lot of authors. But I do know that no one would have the perseverance to see their novels through publication if they didn't love them. A lot.
How about you guys? How do you deal with these days? Or do you curl up and have conversations with yourself in the mirror? Not that I do that, of course. Um.
On a different note, I'd considered titling this post "Mopey Dick." I didn't end up going through with it, because it seemed too perverted, but I did succeed in amusing myself.