When we begin writing a story, we’re in love with an idea. The idea may be bold, maybe it’s weird, could be it’s a love letter to our favorite thing. Whatever it is, the IDEA IS WHY WE DO WHAT WE DO. And though there may be some questions for ourselves in the early goings, this adoration for the idea speeds us along. There is love in this moment of writing. It is, in the best of circumstances, pure artistic creation.
And then, often times, we lose the love.
That stage of pure euphoria for molding this crazy new idea doesn’t last across the weeks and months and years it takes to see the story to its completion. It can’t. There is no way to remain a buzzing little bee working on the same story for months with the same spirit you had when you first started. If you’re happy and you know it, you’re insane.
Doubt in the story and doubt in your abilities as a writer are as natural as can be. It sucks. But it’s true. You’re going to experience doubt.
But do not despair. If it is natural, then that means all of us go through it. Even the greats that you admire.
After the initial buzz of creation from the earlier sections of writing begins to wear off, we tend to put away our adventurer’s maps. The joy of discovery has left us. Once, we had boldly ventured into the unknown, sure we knew what we were doing and that the creative voyage we were on was worthwhile. Now, doubt sets in. We trade in the map in for something more critical.
Oh no, I feel another half-baked metaphor coming on.
We break out the metal detectors and begin to judge what we have before we’ve even finished digging it out of the sand. It’s probably junk. Not even worth digging up. Just more garbage best left in the dirt, unknown and unseen. That’s bullshit and I know it even if you do not.
You don’t know what you have at the halfway point (and if you’re constantly rereading your work before it’s finished, stop that; you’re not the right judge for your story at this point). And you’re selling yourself short if you don’t continue on, dig it out of your subconscious, and put it to words. You might be right, you might have something dull and lackluster. Sorry, but happens. However, you can still polish that shit up in the rewrite. Improve it. Keep digging. Find new ideas to add to your treasure. Make something that was dull shine with a new light, a new point of view. Rewriting isn’t often fun but it’s where the bad can turn into good and the good becomes great.
And hey, at the end of the story, you might find that the idea you’ve been working on is silver or gold. You don’t know that until it’s done – with an unfinished story, it’s just as foolish to assume your work is the Next Great Whatever as it is to assume it is complete shit. You do not know. But it can be special.
Don’t give up on the story. Don’t give up on yourself. The love may have faded and it has started to feel like work but work is exactly what it is. And if you quit on it now, you’ll never find that love for the story ever again. Love for writing is found most commonly at the beginning and at the end. The middle is where our heroes suffer, and it’s often where we will suffer as well.
Persevere. Put away judgment for yourself and your words. Put away the metal detector. Keep digging, keep working. It’s the only way you’ll ever find your silver.
