Living with my manuscript for a full workday, really living with it, was the best thing I could have done on Friday. I sat down with the binder I’m using to organize the thing, surrounded by drafts that my advisor and my peers had commented on, and I organized all of those suggestions, along with my own general thoughts on each chapter, into the binder. As I went through what I had, several things became clear. First and foremost among them was that I had a solid foundation of a book in front of me.
And while all of this served only to delay the return of my foul mood (I ended the day with a terrible fight between Stephanie and I over my cooking of dinner while she watched home improvement shows on TV) it did make me feel, for most of the day, like an author was really doing something.
I think that’s all I want out of each day: to feel as if I am truly moving forward on the project which I am working on at that moment.
To be sure, there is a great amount of work left to be done. But it is not so much work that it paralyzes me with fear. What I realized today is that my novel is already there, waiting to be polished. And that has been my favorite part of the process over the last couple of years—the polishing.
Now, if I could just figure out why I am in such a foul mood at the end of the day… If I could just figure that out and fix it, all would be good.