I spent this weekend working on the climax and wrestling with the inner critic. Whom I let in without intending to. I kept thinking that I had to do a low point, make sure I had enough for it…gave it the crack in the door it needed to waltz right in. Of course, it’s like that commercial where a waitress falls and someone else asks, “Is there a doctor here?” A woman rushes over, professing expertise because she watched a lot of TV. Yeah, that’s inner critic.
HUGS. Wrestling with the Inner Critic is always stressful.
My ICBM is rarely far away, though I do keep reminding her that some of my favorite stories of all time were written BEFORE all these how-to-write guidelines existed. If they could do it, why can’t I?
And to the, “Well, that was Agatha Christie/Louisa May Alcott/Charles Dickens/whoever – and you’re not them,” I say, “Agatha Christie didn’t know she was Agatha Christie, either. She just wrote stories.”
It’s an ongoing debate. GRIN
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Thank you. I think seeing that did help me going into writing this evening. I had a laugh too when I saw that your inner critic also has an acronym after a missile. Sometimes it can be that way!
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