I love first drafts. They contain so much promise. Maybe this time, this story will be the one. The one people love, the one I love, the one that moves me from the designation of emerging writer to professional writer. First drafts allow me to dream and not worry about a clunky sentence or the random adverb that I know will have to be cut later.
Rewrites are the true work of a writer. Any doubt that enters into a writer’s brain about talent and ability happens during the process of a rewrite. The days of dreaming are gone, now’s the time to get your act together.
I’m in the process of a rewrite and, as usual, the thoughts that make me want to run for the door drift just below the surface of my skin. I try to temper them with the positive accolades that I’ve received, but I know I’m only as good as the sentence I’m working on at this very moment.
I’ll do the work. Because I have to do the work. Because it’s how I want to spend my day and nothing feels quite so satisfying as putting words on the page.