Please tell me I’m not the only one this happens to. You’re moseying along, happy as can be with your story, writing from the heart, smiling when you think of the marvelous things to come, and then, as you’re preparing for the climax, you come to the heartbreaking realization that you absolutely hate your book.
Yes. I’m nearing the climax of Next Full Moon, and I realized that I don’t even like this stupid book. It’s horrible. It has werewolves in it, for crying out loud. How could it possibly be original?
I’m doomed. DOOMED, I TELL YOU. Everything I ever write for the rest of my life is cursed. I’m cursed. I’ll be a pathetic writer, a CRAZY WRITER, doodling on napkins and talking to voices in my head whilst rooting through the garbage behind restaurants for dinner because I HAVE NO POTENTIAL AND WILL BE A BEGGAR AFTER MY PARENTS KICK ME OUT.
Guys, I am totally kidding. Yes, I hate my novel, but I’m not going to be a beggar. Or scribble crazily on napkins. I don’t think. You never know in my topsy turvy life of WILDNESS AND ADVENTURE.
No… pretty sure I’m not going to become a beggar.
Anywho. Next Full Moon and I are in the final sprint. Aura is this close to finding the prince. The full moon rises tomorrow night. Adventure and tension and fighting galore. And yet, I allowed my thoughts to wander to another project for two seconds, and BAM. Lost interest in Next Full Moon just like that.
It’s a curse, the writer’s mind. A curse.