When I began this novel I plunged in with my usual carefree swagger. Once I finished the first draft I began to realize how awful it was.
So I plunged into the second draft with reckless abandon, and before I finished I realized it was even worse!
Now, working on the third draft and going quietly insane, I’m trying to make every sentence and every paragraph work. And I wish I could be regain all that reckless, carefree spirit. The worst part of this is I’m certain that I’m overthinking the third draft. But I’m sure I’ll never know because I’m so deeply buried in it that I can barely comprehend what I’ve written.
It also occurs to me that I spent too many carefree years blogging. My writing was an undisciplined–fire and forget–hodge-podge.