Third draft. I can't believe I hit third draft already.
First draft: Spew words on paper.
Write. Just write. Must finish. Tell the story. Read the story. Hate the story. Accept the story. But you already know this. That was in the first five parts.
Second draft: Cull words from paper.
Novel is no longer novel length. I've shortened it. I've taken out rubbish from within the pages. The ramblings. The delirious mutterings of an author on the brink. Okay. So at end of the second draft, what have I got, and am I happy with it?
At this point... well, it's short. The plot is intact. It has less... meandering in it. I can't show it to anyone because it's not finished. I keep seeing more and more problems with it.
Am I happy... wwweeeeellllll.... yes-no-sort of...
I don't dislike it as much as I did. That's a positive thing, right?
And then I hit third draft.
And then there seemed to be an epiphany.
I sudden know where to go. I know what's wrong. More importantly, I know how to fix it. I know what made those bits in the middle make me get drunk and kick my monitor. I know what the story needs. I can see it. I can see it so clearly.
I'm not afraid of the words anymore. I can overcome. (I'm still afraid of the hamsters. With rocket launchers. Riding the backs of giant spiders.)
I now stride forward. I will complete. I will conquer.
I have come. I have seen. I will kick it's ass.
'Til next time...