After months of struggling with my writing I had one reasonable piece sent for submission, one that had died in the arse after re-writing it three times (to the tune of approx. 11,000 words), and one that was floundering badly.
And I’ve been BITCHIN about it. To anyone who’ll listen. Mostly my wife, which is lucky because she’s seen it before and is supportive in a ‘harden up wimp’ kind of way.
Anyway, after a weekend of sun and exercise, on Sunday I sat in the backyard and wrote 1,000 words into my floundering story, rejuvenating it somewhat. Then, at eight o’clock that night, when I’m normally zoning out, I re-read my “died in the arse” story, realised it was closer to “first draft finished” stage than I remembered, and I worked out how to get past the stumbling block that killed it last time. Poured 1,100 words into it, and backed it up by completing the first draft on Monday night.
HOW THE HELL DID THAT ALL HAPPEN?
(not that I’m complaining)