For the first time in a while, I am writing new stuff and enjoying it. That probably sounds lame, but I was starting to wonder if it would ever happen again.
Sure, I've been editing like a good little writer, trying to write through the suckage. I've been doing my job. The love just wasn't there anymore, nor was the confidence. That might be a functioning mentality for editing, but for drafting? Um, no.
I haven't finished writing a book this year. From a girl who wrote 6 and 4 books in the past 2 years, this is a serious drop in creative productivity. I am not proud of how much this year has affected my confidence, and thus my ability to put out new words.
Not only did I stop believing in my ability to actually write a story—I stopped believing my ideas were good.
This was new. And scary.
I'd never lost faith in my ideas. Of course it was hard to get them out the right way on the first shot, but I'd get there if I worked. This year it wasn't about the work. I knew I could work. I've worked my writerly butt off. No, this year I questioned if I should even bother putting so much effort into my crap ideas.
That's a really ugly place to be, guys. If you're there, I just want to say that I get you, and you're wrong. Your ideas are wonderful, and they are worth it.
I've finally gotten back to a place where I at least believe in my ideas. That, I think, is key. Of course I still struggle with feeling like a good writer. Of course editing still makes me wonder if I'll ever get there. But that's okay, because I believe, and actually love, my ideas again. They are worth the work.
So I'm writing again. Really writing, not just going through the motions. It feels good, kind of like a miracle. I love my flawed, imperfect work in progress. There's something there, and with a little work (okay, a lot) I'll make it shine. I couldn't ask for more.