I know I set a deadline of Nov. 1st for revising my novel, but I kinda forgot I’d be out of commission during Sukkot. Now, I’m paying the price.
My tush is asleep. My tailbone is rebelling.
I really want to finish by Tuesday night, but I’m finding the chair at my computer so painful (despite yoga and 600 mg ibuprofen every 6 hours), I’m not sure I’m going to make it. Plus, every time I look at what I’ve already written and supposedly revised, I keep finding more things I don’t like. Ugh.
Self-doubt sets in. Maybe it’s no good after all.
I’m going to try to finish, anyway. What if I spend the next 20 years kicking myself about “that novel I wrote, but never finished…”?