Do you ever have one of those writing days when you feel as though you are firing on all cylinders, only to read everything back and question whether your brain was actually present for any of it?
That was me today. And to be completely honest, it was also me yesterday.
Most of the time, when I sit down to write, I do so because I feel ready to create. I am excited to develop an idea, move a storyline forward or finally get a conversation out of my head and onto the page. Or onto the laptop, because I am not wandering around with a fountain pen and a leather-bound notebook like some mysterious literary heroine. You get the gist.
Recently, however, there has been a distinct lack of communication between the creative part of my brain and the part responsible for forming coherent sentences. I can have a solid idea and know exactly how I want a scene to unfold. I can hear the dialogue, picture the expressions and watch the entire thing play out like a film in my mind. Then I read it back and discover something jumpy, inconsistent and alarmingly close to complete nonsense.
The Frustration of a Bad Writing Day
Thankfully, the writing community is vast, generous and always ready to reassure you that your private crisis is actually a very common one. I have been endlessly comforted by other writers admitting that they experience exactly the same creative highs and lows. It has happened to me before, and I know it will happen again, but that does not make it any less frustrating when you are stuck in the middle of it.
Like many aspiring authors, I am trying to write a novel while also holding down a full-time career, raising a family and maintaining every other hobby that creative people insist on collecting as though free time is not already an endangered species. When I finally sit down to write, I do not expect every sentence to arrive polished and publication-ready. However, I would appreciate it if the words could at least meet me halfway.
Alas, here I am, repeatedly reading the same paragraph and wondering whether deleting the entire manuscript would be dramatic or simply efficient.
Paying My Literary Dues
There is a small part of me that does not entirely mind reaching this point. I would say that around 90 per cent of my writing process is relatively smooth, so perhaps this difficult 10 per cent is simply me paying my dues in the literary world. Surely enduring several terrible chapters earns me some good writing karma further down the line.
That is how it works, right?
What I am trying to remember is that my imagination has not disappeared. My mind is still producing ideas, developing characters and working through the story. The issue is simply getting everything from my head onto the page in a way that resembles the version I can see so clearly. In a few days, I will probably find my rhythm again and wonder why I ever considered abandoning the entire project to become someone who relaxes for fun.
This is not necessarily writer’s block, because the ideas are still there. It is more like creative traffic. Everything is trying to move, but none of it is getting anywhere particularly quickly.
Saving the Disaster Chapters
I am even considering saving some of these disastrous chapters. One day, when my novels have achieved global domination, obviously, they could become hilarious bonus content. Perhaps they might even inspire another aspiring author who is convinced that everybody else produces beautiful prose on the first attempt.
They could read my confusing, chaotic collection of half-formed dialogue and unnecessary descriptions and think, “If she managed to turn that into a book, I might actually have a chance.”
In all seriousness, I think there is value in remembering that poor writing is still part of the writing process. A bad first draft can be edited. A confused chapter can be restructured. A scene that does not work can be deleted, mourned briefly and rewritten after a strong coffee and a mild identity crisis. What cannot be improved is the chapter you were too afraid to write at all.
So, for now, I am trying not to judge every sentence as it appears. I am allowing myself to write badly, knowing that the clarity will eventually return and I can clean everything up later. That is what editing is for, even if my future self may not be particularly grateful for the workload.
Just know that if you are also writing 2,000 words and then deleting 1,800 of them, you are certainly not alone. Some writing days are productive, some are painful, and some leave you staring at the screen as though it has personally betrayed you. The important thing is that you sat down, opened the document and tried.
Sometimes, that has to be enough.
