writing with judgment, or joy?

I’m often caught up in the idea that writing a good novel is a gift from heaven. If only I can open myself up in the right way, perhaps do a wordcount dance while wearing a silk scarf knotted around one arm, beating a bodhran with a battered book…

But no. Inspiration doesn’t fall on demand. And harsh judgment and self-criticism aren’t exactly the best fertilizer for parched creativity.


It’s entirely possible to recapture the joy and fun I used to feel with this novel, to wade across this tough patch. To stop over-thinking, and move through the scene progressions as if I were seeing the story for the first time (instead of, say, putting out my eyes).

What would surprise me as a reader? What would I want to see happen? … And then do the opposite!

Don’t dread the hard work ahead, but enjoy the discovery to come.

Right? Right???

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