I've actually got a semi-rough draft of a prologue of THE GREAT CHINESE-AMERICAN NOVEL written out, and I think its somewhat decent. The trouble is that I want to re-edit it over and over. Then I drag Hubby over to take a look at it.
"What do you think?" I ask Hubby.
"I like the other version better," he replies.
"Which part?" I inquire.
"The whole thing, I don't know." He gestures vaguely to the top of the page. I sigh.
Then I have a 'panic/what the hell am I doing' attack. Oh my god. I have to produce 80,000 words for a viable manuscript. 80,000 words that must combine into a dramatic, thoughtful, poignant, "Wow, this is good, dammit!" story. Its not like in the fifth grade when my sado-masochistic teacher made the entire class write a 500 word essay on the benenfits of bathing daily. I totally made up some mumbo jumbo and she loved it ("Daily bathing is good because body odor is bad"). I can't shoot 80,000 words out of my ass and hope it passes muster.
So I take a deep, cleansing breath and try to relax. A wise woman (Nora Roberts)
once said that you can fix a bad page, but not a blank one. So I reopen the file and start to type once again...