This is the third time I've started this blog post. I'm doing that middle-of-the-night thing again, too. And I'm using words like "this" and "that" more than usual.
I'm drowning in false starts.
Writing is not my friend, these days. I don't feel like I have anything to say. I'm afraid of working on what I need to work on, because I don't want it to fall apart. Again. Again and again and again.
All I want to do is hole up with the books I should have read a month ago and try to make stories feel like fun again.
I *think* I figured out what was wrong with my beginning. A week ago, I was calling this a "breakthrough." Now I'm just calling it stupid. The issue: If I write it, it will inevitably be wrong in a few weeks time. And so I haven't written it.
First drafts are nothing, guys.
It's the second draft that's killing me.