As a writer, I'm learning that every book I write requires ME to hit rock bottom. At some point after I've been toiling for months on end, I'll realize that nothing in the story is going the way I want, that I've made a huge mistake deciding to write this book, that I shouldn't be a writer at all, that my life is meaningless without writing and my misery is endless, and what is the point of any of this anyway?
Usually, these thoughts are accompanied by feelings of complete and utter despair where I cry on the floor of my home office, cry in the shower, cry in the bathroom stalls at work, cry in bed, cry in the car.
Somehow, some way, I snap out of it. I finally figure out what was missing in the story before. I finally come up with constructive ways of fixing the problems. I push forward and get it done.
Last Sunday was when things got especially horrible for me with Live Through This. For three days, I suffered misery that, at the time, felt beyond compare. The title of the manuscript was a cruel joke because I was sure that I would NOT live through this. Now, it's Sunday again and I'm plugging along with a whole new outlook and renewed focus. The number of writing days that I have left before my deadline is now into single digits. I don't know exactly what I'm going to have ready when that day comes, but it'll be something. And, as they say, that's not nothing.
The only good thing about rock bottom is that you can hit it exactly once. At least, that's what I'm counting on.
Special shout-out to Kari at A Good Addiction for doing an emergency read and critique for me last week! You totally saved me. ♥