What is it about writing stories that renders us
(and by us, I mean, me) clueless?
I’m revising a manuscript I used to think was pretty damned solid
but with the help of my mentor, I’m realizing I’d hit many wrong notes.
The opening chapter is so much better now
which makes me very happy
but also makes me wonder
what the hell was I thinking before?
How could I miss the obvious?
I felt a bit shame-spirally last night as I contemplated my cluelessness
but am now trying to focus on feeling grateful for a stronger manuscript,
and am reminding myself I will carry this awareness to later projects.
I won’t get fooled again.