My brain has liquefied. I'll tell you why. I attended the Rose State Writing Conference this weekend. I loved it. It was motivational, I learned new things, and I got to pitch my book to three agents, and all requested pages. (WOOT WOOT!) But when I came home, the pressure of getting my book out to three agents started to eat at me. What if it isn't good enough? That cannot happen. It has to be good enough. No, not good. Stellar. Rock star.
I woke up the same night I got home and started rewriting my first page. At one a.m., my thoughts were a blur, but at some point I managed to come up with something decent. At least I hope so. I'm on page 87 now, still combing through every sentence, weighing each word with careful precision, trying to make my character so likable that you would cry with agony before sending her to rejection land.
This morning my brain feels like runny oatmeal. I'm surprised I'm able to type this post, to be honest. But it's worth it. By the end of this process, my brain is sure to be chicken broth, but it's worth it. Why would I put myself through this? You might ask. Here's the answer:
When you're a writer, at some point your characters are born. For example, in my third book, my main character's name is Lily White. I'd come up with her physical description (long, dark hair, very curly to the point of annoyance.) Her personality (shy, when she's not in demon-mode) and her positive attributes (loyal, especially to her father who's been captures by her aunt--The White Demon). Yet I still didn't really know her. By the end of the first draft, I wrote a scene where she walked through a cave, backpack slung over her shoulder, hiking boots. It was a simple scene of a person hiking through a cave, but that's when I saw her. In my mind, I saw her walking through that cave. And that's when Lily White was born.
Now I feel it's my obligation to get her story out there, no matter what it takes. One a.m. brain-busting sessions, writing conferences, one-thousand words written every day--I'll do it.