I’ve been dead in the water the last week or so as far as posting to my blog. I’ve also been behind on reading up on some of my favorite blogs and have been desperately trying to catch up.
Even though I wasn’t here, I was being productive. I tackled a rewrite of one of my short pieces. A few nights ago, after finishing it up, I went to bed dancing in the sheets, figuratively of course. Then a little twinge hit me in the gut.
I tried to ignore it and tell myself that it was something that I ate. I tossed and turned all night long and the next morning it was still there, waiting for me like the Grim Reaper. I took my shower. It was there. I ate breakfast. It sat right beside me. I applied my makeup. It stared back at me in the mirror. It literally scared the hell out of me.
There was no avoiding it any longer. I had to face reality. It wasn’t leaving. It was that thing inside that tells me my story still isn’t quite right. It was that thing that hangs over my shoulder until I succumb to its wishes. It pulled me back to the laptop and forced me to pick apart my words and read aloud sentence after sentence, second-guessing myself every step of the way. Damn you, perfection!
Although I don’t consider myself a perfectionist, I do strive to put out a commendable piece. I think that’s a normal feeling for most writers. In all fairness, there are only two paragraphs that are giving me angst with this current story. If I could just get past them, I could finally move on with my life until the next story comes along and pushes me over the deep end.
Do you ever let that one story drive you crazy? Do rewrites and edits take you down an unending road of pulling out your hair?