I’m in the process of writing a book for middle schoolers. It’s Diary of a Wimpy Kid, except if the main character was obsessed with Pokemon. He also falls in love and needs to learn how to talk to people.
It may or may not be semi-autobiographical.
Today, while editing my last chapter I had the horrific realization that it sucked. Like, a lot. So much that I felt surprise that I could create something this terrible, like I’d somehow made a mistake and opened the wrong project. But there was no mistake. And after a few minutes of staring at the chapter in disgust, I closed my computer and decided to go home.
On my walk home, I tried to think of possible next steps. I considered quitting, or starting a new project. I started looking at “hiring” signs in the windows of every shop, imagining my future as a server at the Italian place near our house that seems super desperate for help. A construction guy smiled at me and I briefly pictured how great it would be to actually make something that people appreciate and need. Then I wondered if I would get any more muscular if I became a construction guy, which would be cool, but I’ve been told I don’t eat enough protein to ever really gain anything, also who really cares about being buff as long as you’re healthy, so I dropped the idea.
Luckily, it was a beautiful day, which prompted positivity.
I asked myself if there was ANYTHING about my chapter that I liked. I reluctantly admitted that I think some of the doodles are fun. I also like the potential of the world and story. And I like the character.
Which means that it’s worth holding onto. Maybe I hated it this morning because I was cold and tired and hungry, and not because it’s garbage that I thought could be beautiful. In fact, I just revisited the chapter and it’s not as bad as I remember. Though I still like the doodles more than the writing.
My takeaway? Next time I’m feeling discouraged, go for a walk and wave at a construction worker. Then, I’ll try to think about what I LIKE about my art. Hopefully, this will be enough to keep me going.
And if I don’t like anything, I have a strong feeling that the Italian place is still desperate for help.