I can see why most writers are alcoholics.

I love writing, I love watching worlds and characters come to life… but I hate editing.

I’ll write chapters. Then they sit…waiting…for months. It’s so long that I know them off-by-heart, and by the time I go back around to them for their ‘cleaning up’ I can’t do it because I literally cannot take this sledgehammer to the little parts that give my novel life.

It’s like slowly chipping away at pillars, terrified that one wrong move and you’ll watch your own masterpiece crumble to dust before your eyes.

My plan was the edit this whole novel during my winter break from work. To have it semi-readable before I go back, but it’s turned into a mental battle rather than a physical one.

I’m only on chapter 3 and I hate this novel a little bit more the longer I work on it, but I know the longer I work on it, the more likely I am to start liking it again…

I can see why most writers are alcoholics.

Self-doubt is creeping in…again.

I’ve been searching on-and-off today for agents and publishing houses to send this manuscript from book 1 to, when self doubt crept in and I have *looks up* four tabs opened of agents. It’s bout to turn midnight and I haven’t sent it to a single person.

This is horrible. I feel sick with doubt and fear. I wish I could get someone else to do it for me.

I wouldn’t be still writing if I thought I was crap, but why can’t I send off this stupid query letter. It was a struggle the first time, I just presumed it would get easier. But oh my god, it doesn’t. 

I know why people go on the self-publishing route now, this is just putting oneself through emotional and mental torture. I can’t wait till I get a rejection letter, I probably wont even flinch at it, and chuck it in the bin and carry on.

I’m calling it a day, after not sending a single e-mail off. Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel brave enough to do it, but not today.