Okay. I’ve been lost in the black hole of revisions. And it’s been a weird process this novel because I’ve been working on it, in some way or shape or form, for the past three years. Honest to God, give me the screenplay to GRAVITY, I’ll stick in my characters, and I could tell you what they’d do.
So … I was feeling stressed and insecure and concerned and worried and fill-in-the-blank … because I thought, “Maybe this sucks. What do I do if this totally and completely blows?” After three years of rewrites, start-overs, conceptual changes and more, I had a panic attack last week.
Total and complete panic. So much so that I started dreaming up sub-plots and imagining other possibilities (getting kidnapped by Somali pirates, joining a mob, going back in time) … I was paralyzed at the screen because I don’t have a big story with big characters with big events. WHERE’S THE FREAKING SPACE SHIP WHEN YOU NEED IT?
So I made a decision the other day: I will love my characters.
That’s it. I will love them and admire them and write them the story they deserve, the story I began and intend to finish. This week, actually, since it’s due next. So … I will love my characters and leave the spaceships to someone else (for today, anyway).