To then recieve feedback as such a story that makes the eyesight blurr from all the red marks can ultimately lead a writer to consider giving up the ghost [so to speak]. The thought of one more minute spent on a manuscript that's already been on your desk for weeks in revisions... Well,
Good writing is hard for an author to find! [insert Ratatouille voice]
Oddly enough, the people I hear this from the most...are the successful ones. *narrows eyes* Why is that? If I've finally allowed myself to completely doubt everything I've done, will I then be successful?
*pounds fist on desk*
No! I can't believe it. It's unreasonable. Success has nothing to do with what's NOT on the paper.
I love my story. The more I fine tune it, the better it gets. I may be drowning myself in rewrites and revisions right now, but it's TOTALLY tubular... er, worth it. And I still think I can be done and ready to submit by the end of July. So, no sweat here.
So, tell me, Do you love your story? your writing? Or are you filled with doubt, wondering at any given moment if what you're doing is worthwhile?
I've got an excerpt from the newest bit of my story. I love it. I think it has punch and the follow-up scene will be messy with emotion and intimacy. I CAN'T WAIT!
~~~~~~~Phillips rounded the table to stand with the other man, another suit. "Your parts in this operation are both crucial, essential. If you’ll sit down, I’ll explain."
Using the words Maggie and operation in the same sentence made Mark's blood freeze. He rubbed the back of his neck. This was not happening. Placing his hands on the table in front of him, he leaned in, became as intimidating as he knew how to be and spoke quietly, "My plane was almost taken down on the last operation. My wife is not an operator. I will not allow her to do your dirty work for you."
Phillips might have been a likable guy, he displayed the right amount of sympathy, but too soon, a spark of triumph ignited in his eyes.
Maggie had come up behind Mark, rested a hand on his back. "Mark."
He closed his eyes and braced for the tremor her touch induced. He was weak and he’d proved it to every man in the room. "No Maggie! How can you even consider it?"
"I can help." It was that simple to her. She had no fear.
His fist landed on the table. "I won’t allow it." He grabbed her shoulders and shook. "It’s too dangerous."
She smiled at him.
God, she smiled at him. "Aaargh!" He dropped her, stalked to the door and flung it open. Silence followed him into the dark corridor.