The Fear

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I placed a shawl around my shoulders. It was just the right thickness to help ward off the chill within the room. This small comfort was enough to keep my fingers typing away for another twenty minutes. Then I came to the end of that chapter.

I allowed myself quarter of an hour, that was all, to make a cup of tea, check my phone, Facebook, and Twitter. If I’d had more time I would have grabbed a handful of chocolate chip cookies, but it was back to the grind again. More minutes later and I’d finished another scene. Stop. Go. Stop. Go.

By this point I started to feel the chill in my tiny office. There was a draft coming through both the window and the bottom of the door. It was time to make a hot water bottle and I allowed myself another second fifteen-minute break.

Ready once again, I sat down to edit another section. I reached for my brew and worse than being cold, it was empty. Gone. I asked myself: “Do I make another or just plough on?” That was when I heard her again, telling me I should stop; telling me to grab a thick blanket, put the TV on, and watch Homes Under the Hammer with a warm drink and biscuits.

Damn she’s good.

Writing a novel is the fun part. Giving myself creative licence to run free over the keyboard of my dreams is bliss. No need to set up timers. I could sit in front of the computer all day and reel out pages and pages of nonsense with the occasional gems. It’s the editing that gets me. Every. Single. Time.

I don’t want to murder my darlings. I don’t want to watch my impressive word count figure diminish. I don’t want to reread what I’ve written, knowing full well a lot of it will suck. At least that’s what she’ll tell me, Inner Editor. Where did my partner in crime, Creativity, run off to?

There’s another voice though. I think it’s Guilt. I feel guilty for not working on this project I’ve already spent so many hours on. People are expecting me to finish. Heck, I’m expecting me to finish. I feel like I cannot write another word of any other story until this one is done. Please tell me I’m not the only one?

What if though, that other voice I can hear isn’t really guilt? Maybe it’s future me, reminding me that it will all be worth it in the end. Maybe what I’ve written isn’t really as I bad as I think it is. Either way, I need to get this done.

I will give myself to the top of hour. It’s just enough time to have a cup of tea, devour the remains of a half-eaten sandwich, and post this on my blog. I can’t be the only writer who fears reaching the end of her project, right?


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About Donna-Louise Bishop

I'm a writer, freelance reporter, creative writing tutor, and blogger, living in the beautiful county of Norfolk UK. In my spare time I am also a wife, a mother to three boys, and a human washing machine.
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15 Responses to The Fear

  1. Kay says:

    Way to go weeding through the voices and listening to the productive ones! Whether it’s present guilt or future wisdom, keep on truckin. Also, great gloves – I knit and can’t help but notice ;).

  2. Stacie says:

    It’s hard to kill your darling words, but the final product will be so much better for it! Good luck getting it done.

  3. Cyn K says:

    I felt cold just reading your description.

  4. This is a wonderful something out of nothing. I know your novel will be well worth reading.

  5. d3athlily says:

    I’m so impressed with how much editing you’ve been able to do so far! What a mammoth task. I loathe editing my book. Haha

  6. DL, we believe in you! Good luck with all the editing – I can’t wait to purchase your book in the near future xox.

  7. anusrini20 says:

    Don’t be afraid to kill your darlings! Good luck. 🙂

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