I did a lot of writing over the weekend.

Or should I say, I did some writing, and a whole lot of re-writing. Because it sucked. I wrote an entire 4200 words of pure, grade-A suck. The suckitude of this festering pile of suck cannot be overstated.

It sucked. I sucked. And I wondered why I even call myself a writer.

Did I mention the suck thing? Because I want to be sure you understand the mindset. It’s not uncommon to writers, at all. Really, if you didn’t suck, you wouldn’t get better. You wouldn’t learn and expand through the correction and exploration of where you went off the rails. You wouldn’t nurture and grow and burn it all to the ground to pull something amazing from the ashes.

So I burned it to the ground, and I started again. And I chopped and hacked and re-arranged, and it’s better.

Slightly.

I can’t say it doesn’t suck, but it certainly sucks less. And for now….that’s forward momentum and I’m just going to keep pushing along.

‘Cause that’s what writers do. Even when they suck.

Especially when they suck.