Below was my Facebook status the night I had to turn in the manuscript I want to be critiqued when I go back to LA for my winter residency in December. Note: writing is as stressful as it is theraphpeutic and somethings just need to get out!


When you're a writer, life is like this: You have a brilliant stroke of genius. You begin writing like a crazed person. If you're lucky and can find time without interruption, the creative juices flow and you feel godly--supreme intelligence. You know THIS will be the true Great American Novel. Then you are interrupted or you hit The Wall. With nothing new coming to mind, you go back over what you've written. This is it? What idiocy! What was I thinking? Crap! It's all crap. You consider trashing it all then decide to sit on it for a few days, after all, no one tosses out his baby after he realizes his child shits just like the rest of them. Coming back to said piece, we rewrite. Deleting, deleting, deleting. About 50% of the original remains. We rewrite again. 25%. We rewrite again. Maybe the main character's name is still the same. We realize we're human. This is not the Great American Novel, but damn it, the story needed to be told.