I wish I could say I’ve made monumental progress on my Invictus piece. I won’t lie though; I’m only a few thousand words in and far from satisfied with any of it. The language is sloppy, the order is wrong, and I don’t think I’m doing justice to anyone in my story right now.
It’s ok though.
I know it will get better. That’s the best part of writing for me. I can put complete garbage on the page, but I can go back and fix it. I can rewrite and rethink everything until it works. Writing is one of the few places we get that chance, and it keeps me from panicking when things get difficult.
Just getting the details of my story down has been frustrating. I’ve cried, I’ve put it off, and I’ve struggled to sit and keep going. Writing is so much about de-stressing for me, and sometimes this story has actually stressed me out. I don’t typically write non-fiction, so I’m not usually digging into my personal life like this and it’s weird. What I like though, is that it’s real, and I want to tell the story. That’s what gets me through the tough times.