That stage called despair…

I’m on a new project, and…

mjc-writing in bed 2 -0682


… it’s making me sick with anxiety, crazy. In one week, I am flow, I pour out 12,000 words effortlessly. The next week—I know—I don’t just think, I know—they are all crap. Unreadable. Worthless. I spend a week crying. The following week, I salvage a third of what I wrote… Today… I know I need to throw it all out. It HAD to get written… but it is unreadable, cannot be read…



About mjanecolette

Writer. Reader. Angster. Reformed Bohemian (not). Author of the erotic romance Tell Me, the erotic tragedy (with a happy ending) Consequences (of defensive adultery), and the rom-com (she's versatile) Cherry Pie Cure, as well as the non-fiction collection of essays Rough Draft Confessions: not a guide to writing and selling erotica and romance but full of inside inside anyway. Coming in 2018: Text Me, Cupid, a steamy romance in four episodes. Current WiPs: Queer Christmas in Cowtown, Jewel of the Not-So-Spectacular Boobs, All In the Cards, and Un-Valentine. Yes, working on four projects simultaneously is a spectacularly bad idea.

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