It’s day 5 of October and I still haven’t started reworking the outline. I am so intimidated by past me and what I already wrote that I feel like I am disassembling a structure piece by piece. This is like the world’s worst Jenga game.
That’s overdramatic, and I think the real issue is that I’m afraid that in all of those pages and in all of that outline and all of that work I’ve already done, that I don’t actually have a story. I’m afraid that my memory of this world, my memory of these characters, is much better than the reality. I’m terrified to go back and see that “past-me” used a lot of words to say very little.
It’s day 5 of October and if I’m facing an entire rewrite of an outline then I should start earlier than later. If I’m going to have to wrestle with my past self and discover that what I had was just an idea, a thought, a setting, a dream, the best time to start making it real would have been on day 1 of October.
My cat is sitting on my desk, laying on my mouse, smacking me in the arm with his tail. Either he wants me to work on the outline or he wants me to pet his head. Either way, he’s being a real jerk right now. Perhaps I can blame this procrastination on the cat. He’s certainly the reason for this shorter, more informal post being dictated by me since I can’t actually type.
But needs must and we soldier on. Time to see if “past-me” created a solid foundation or spun clouds.