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…

😦

mjc

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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