I'm wading through a lot of muck as I continue to look for a transition from point A to point B with an old project that's been on hold for a while. As much as I like to get things right the first time -- or as close to right as I can -- I keep reminding myself that this is still just the "shitty first draft."
Maybe I'd feel better about things if I stopped reading Anne Lamott, but I digress.
It's pretty frustrating slogging through the mud trying to pull words out of the goop that look fresh and shiny on the screen. So far, all I see is turds. Big, fat, smelly turds.
I wrote to the end of my first chapter and attempted to start the next one, but all I typed was a big no. 2 before I gave in. So, now that I only have a half hour before it's time to sit down and read books to my son before bed, I'm getting ready to take a shot at the next step in my story.
That's the trouble with writing, just when you pull your foot out of one pile of poop, you step in another one.
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