Late last night I posted about day 11. I could feel it breathing down my neck with hot, rancid breath.
I was trying to stave off the worst of its effects and clinging to the knowledge that this is entirely normal. Day 11 is a bitch. Week 2 is the hardest.
Thing is, I’m still suffering. I’ve prepared everything I need to write the next chunks but my mind is drawing blanks and my heart feels like it’s breaking because all I’ve written so far is useless, worthless rubbish.
Day 11 is a dose of negativity hanging over us like a cloud and bringing forth all of the possible paranoias about our works.
The truth about it all is that first drafts suck. All first drafts suck and day 11 is just one of the breakdowns we have on the path to the perfect novel.