Editing and emotional investment

Up until now, I have been treating my passion for writing as though it was a hobby. Which is strange because I have been writing all my life. Since I could first read, I have been writing. Not well, admittedly, but there you go.

When I was 18 or 19, (I can no longer remember which,) I began a story. I knew how I wanted it to start, no clue what I would stick in the middle, but I was certain about the end. This story grew with me, and it has been a journey. I can see the changes in myself ocurring with the growth and change in the maturity of my writing.

I’m so glad I didn’t finish that story ten years ago. It would have been a crappy book. As it is, I am editing like a muther. I’ve tossed out half of just the beginning chapter, and had to rewrite most of it. It’s killing me because I’m so ready to just be done. I’ve been doing this project for the last ten years of my life. I’m ready for it to hit the world. The problem is, you never truly know if a book is ready to hit the world until it does.

And then, it either flops- or it doesn’t.

No way to know in advance how it will be received.  And that is the scary part, because this book is so much a part of me and my personal growth process. It makes it hard to edit, because I’m so emotionally tied to each and every part of this book.

Don’t get me wrong though- I am more than willing to throw out the dross. If I can’t stand to read it, there is no way I will force that on someone else.

And so, I continue to edit, and **tch, and whine. Bear with me- I’ll get this done eventually.

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