Writing is like a relationship. You go through your ups and downs. Your trials and tribulations. Stand on the precipice of disaster. It can be painful. It can hurt. And like any relationship, your thoughts often entertain the idea of walking away.
But sometimes that’s what it takes to realize how much you can’t let go.
The past six months have been rough. Work was tough. I’ve been plugging away at ‘The Prey,’ but writing hadn’t been the same. There was something missing. Something that was taking away the joy.
I pushed on, forcing myself to write at least one line each night. Wondering if I should keep doing it all. Hoping that with enough reflection I could figure it out.
And then, one day… I did.
I was driving in my car and it just hit me. I don’t know if it was the song on the radio. The breeze outside. The oncoming smell of fall in the air. But suddenly it clicked.
I wasn’t writing for me.
I was writing with the hopes of pleasing someone else. Of using the words I thought they’d like. The dialog I thought they’d like. The scenes I thought they’d like. I wasn’t writing the way Steve Pryor had found so much joy in.
I had gone down the wrong road. Taken a left turn which I should have just kept going straight.
It wasn’t that I didn’t believe in the story for ‘The Prey.’ I just wasn’t writing it the way I usually do. So I took a step back and almost started over for the second draft. And it was while doing this that I fell back in love with writing again. When I was done, I sent it over to Michael and got notes back a few weeks later.
I finished my third draft this weekend and sent it back to Michael for notes again. In the mean time I’ve started writing other things. New scenes. Random bits of dialog. Ideas for changes to ‘Served Cold.’ Just stuff. And it’s helped me remember why I got into this relationship in the first place.