What I thought it would be like:
Writing retreats full of discourse, stimulating discussions, plotting, and lots of other authors.
What it’s actually like:
What I thought it would be like:
Ideas lining up, falling neatly into their places, everything is flowing and glorious and ticking along like pure, perfect, writing clockwork.
What it’s actually like:
EVER HEARD OF SLEEPING, Ideas? Yeah, I didn’t think so.
What I thought it would be like:
Editing, DONE. Polishing? This baby is shining. Revision number three is going SO WELL.
What it’s actually like:
This was such a great idea to edit this bit here—DAMN IT now I have to re-write every part with foreshadowing and change the spelling for one noun hidden throughout 60,000 words.
What I thought it would be like:
Blissful hours spent writing.
What it’s actually like:
Why am I on Canva again? How did Pinterest boards take up three hours? What happened?
What I thought it would be like:
Writing, writing, writing, more writing, lots of writing, all the words!
What it’s actually like:
Re-writing my goddamn author bio for the 50th time.
What I thought it would be like:
The house will just somehow keep itself clean? I dunno, somehow I thought there would be time for writing and cleaning and cooking and parenting and writing.
What it’s actually like:
This mess keeps multiplying although I am sitting quietly at my computer desk without cleaning, how unfair, I did not authorize this method.
What I thought it would be like:
Writing the story.
What it’s actually like:
Back on thesaurus.com looking up synonyms for “moist” for the 800th time
I totally agree with you. Thank you for making me laugh ☺️
You are very welcome!
I’m still going to leave the door unlocked, in case Freddie Mercury drops by with a vacuum. Yes, it’s a long shot, but he’s worth it!
COMPLETELY worth it. Never give up hope.