Writing often feels like a slog. Uphill and pointless.
My niece Trina once asked us, after a family hike, "Am I alone in feeling that was a TOTAL waste of time? We trudged around in the dirt for two hours and ended up back exactly where we started. We could have watched so much Buffy instead of -- what was that?!"
Some writing days, like today for me, I feel just that way. The minutes tick by and there I am, still on page 6 of my revision, fussing with sentences, wondering if I really should just chuck it and go outside -- because for goodness sake it is February and 60 degrees and sunny out in NYC. How often does that happen?
But today I sat, and fussed and edited and trudged around in the wordy dirt and changed and deleted and wrote and deleted, lather rinse repeat -- and just now it happened. My favorite part of writing:
A moment came into focus that had been kind of vague and blurry before. A saggy sentence, in its fifteenth or maybe fiftieth iteration, worked.
A good sentence, true and real.
It sounds like crazy compensation for missing sunshine on a gorgeous day. But when it works, there's nothing quite as glorious as a sentence.
And the sun is still shining. Might go out and grab a bit of that now.
What makes you feel that way? Which trudging is worth it to you?