Of course, maybe my dull little wordcounts also sound detached.
Around the time I staggered past the Scene That Ate December, I realized I’d fallen in love with TFN. I swear, I think writing releases some kind of endorphins, because I am filled with an unreasoning passion for the story. I adore it. On a totally emotive level, I feel like it is The Best Thing. Rationally, I can point out all sorts of flaws, minor and major. Emotionally? GOD, IT IS GOOD. I believe in it. I believe it is the little story that could. I believe it could take the world by storm.
See? Endorphins. Also, very different from how I felt in November and December.
I do try to temper my madness. I try to keep perspective. I try to be realistic. And reason continues to be strong and encouraging, even as the most random things puncture my bubble and leave me pouting on the floor (and even when I pout, I’m secretly convinced that it’s just that nobody understands my GENIUS– but read on).
The endorphins are nice, if disturbing. And they’re valuable. I really enjoy the give and take of discussion about things that would improve my novel. Yes, okay, it’s a direct shot to more GOD, IT IS EVEN BETTER feelings.
But, and more importantly, they come coded. It’s a surge of emotion, but it’s about certain things. I know just how each element and character is cool and what makes them cool. I can write about it. And I believe that if you don’t think my characters and plot elements are as cool as I do, I need to write them better.
And I don’t think that’s a bad way to feel at all, especially if sometimes I temper it with ‘next time’ or ‘hell with you’. Which I do.