I don’t really have anything to say. I’m just feeling down on myself and since this is a blog about my writing journey, feeling down is part of it. These are some of the worst days. Yeah, I wrote a letter to myself for these kinds of days and that’s helpful, but I’m still going to share my thoughts for the six people who read this.
I’ve been working really hard and I’m still writing. But at the moment, I don’t like my story. No, that’s not true. I love my story and I love the characters. But I’ll be realistic, it’s too weird of a concept to get published. Or at least too weird to get published by an unknown. I’m not giving up, but I am going to scoot it sideways to focus on other projects.
I think the distance will be good. I’ve reworked the story so many times, it’s not even the same book it started out as. It’s lost some spark and why shouldn’t it when part of me is tired of it. There’s something wrong with the story that I’m just not seeing. In all of my reviews, I keep hearing the same thing. I need a hook. There’s nothing to make the story unique. It’s just another love story.
Yeah, I know it is. I’m a little depressed about it, but there’s nothing to be done. If the concept isn’t original, no amount of editing will make it so. But what’s an original concept? Out of all those books in the world, how many of them are telling the same kind of love story?
Is there such a thing as original? There must be. All those happy authors getting published have done it. Am I just not that creative? I have ideas.
Sometimes, I think I’m just frustrated with how slow it’s going. Some authors you hear about wrote the entire book in eight months while others spend twenty years. While I wouldn’t mind finishing in eight months, I don’t expect that to happen. But I really don’t want to work on this for twenty years.
I’m already 24 with nothing to show for myself. I’m still in school, working in a dark hole, and barely have time to sleep. I want a diploma and a career and a house and to spend my nights having dinner with my husband. I’m like the little kid in the backseat.
“Are we there yet?”