In a wonderful effort to explain how I'm feeling, a wise, dear friend sent me the following observation:
every step you take, you're greeted with more steps to go and the feeling that you're not getting anywhere.To which I can only say, "Exactly." I have a routine, really I do. Reading at night. Writing during the day. Anxiety at all times because, 1) at some point during the reading, I realize, I cannot read everything on this topic and I've read so much that I can't even cover it all and 2) at some point during the writing, I spend long moments staring at the paper, then scribbling down sentences, then scribbling those out. I am blocked in a way that is only exacerbated (actually, the block is probably caused) by the fact that I need to have a complete draft in the next month. End of discussion. So this chapter has to be finished and I have to go back and add what was supposed to be another chapter into my chapter two (they fit well together, so screw writing a whole new one).
But I've decided that I'm pretty much tired of my own whining. I am not the only person to struggle through this process. I just have to do it. Over the last year of blogging, I've seen Quinn, Ragey, and others do it, so it's not as if I don't know it's possible. So, for at least the next week, there is a moratorium on "poor elle" posts. And if you even smell the delicate but bitter scent of one, feel free to respond with a sharp, "Get over yourself, please."
Because it's just time, you know. I've had long enough. I've read enough. I know enough. And the damned thing is not going to be perfect.