Serial Writing: Someone remind me why I’m doing this to myself?!

Another week has come and gone. I posted week three's scene way too late in the afternoon. I guess I should be grateful that it is still Wednesday and I managed to keep to the spirit of posting a serial on Wednesday. At the rate I was going, I was almost afraid I'd be posting at 11:59 pm. Technically Wednesday, but…

Someone please remind me why I'm doing this to myself? Week one was difficult enough. Week two was a bit of a challenge as well. Week three was brutal. By ‘brutal', I mean to say, ‘face rubbed in dirt while doused in gasoline, and then set on fire painful.'

like Cardeth. I like Vivian. I like the tone of the scene. I even like Evaline! It's a little more passive in nature, but it serves as a nice counterpoint against the more edgy first two scenes. I feel it provides the reader something interesting without explosions. Ok, without many explosions. I think I even manage to tie the continuum between Zero and Cardeth.

But I had to work for it.

Half the time I spent double-guessing myself on the starting point. I came up with something like ten different ways to start this character's story off. After systematically eliminating them, I settled on where I did for a variety of reasons. I redesigned the character concept rather significantly. Several times.

The other half of the time I spent splashing around in the gutter of self-doubt and whining to my very special companions who were getting a good laugh at my expense. (I was happy to pay the bill and be scolded. Because I wanted to be scolded. I have you all fooled if you think I'm Mrs. Confidence.)

There is a lesson to be learned here: Just because I languish, whine, cry, mope, and just about self-doubt myself into developing an ulcer, nobody is really going to notice I had a bad writing day.

Talk about insult to injury, geeze.

Another lesson learned: I'm stubborn. By noon, I was ready and itching to light the entire serial on fire because I know that it shouldn't have been that difficult. Then that little part of me that just loves a challenge started squealing in delight.

I wanted to strangle the life out of that little part of me. I'm sure my poor friends, inflicted with my whining state, also wanted to strangle the life out of me.

So, back to the main point — that little, nagging question — why do I do this to myself? I know why I'm doing this to myself! The answer is simple. A little lengthy, but simple.

I'm a writer, and I write. Couple this with the ethics of trying to do what I say I'm going to do, and it's a perfect storm of stubbornness. Stubbornness that means you get a serial update and I consider painting the walls with my angst.

Is angst a color? It should be. I think angst would be a nice, smokey gray color. Either that or the bright, bright red of someone's blood. I think my characters just fled to the recesses of my mind in the hopes they aren't the one about to be used as a painting medium…

I think my mantra for this series is ‘I will do better this week.'

If I keep telling myself this, it might come true! Hey, why are you laughing? Come on, it might happen. Especially if I get chartreuse-colored paint and tie wings to a pig.

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