I was going to quit.
I thought about it.
I said it.
I almost went through with it.
And who knows if I will or not? The halfway point has passed and I am behind on my word count. I am not so behind that it would be impossible to catch up, but my personal life is interfering with my story. Why must my characters have a complicated relationship just because I am dealing with one myself? Don’t get me started on how there was not supposed to be a relationship to begin with. [NOTE: I have caught up with my word count since writing this! Wrote 5k words in one day: a new personal record!]
I am not doubting my story.
I am not doubting myself.
There are just too many other variables in my life. My brain can only think about so many problems and the problems of my characters adds even more to me.
But I will push forward.
It is the halfway point. Stopping now would just seem like wasted effort.
I have decided to include an excerpt from what I have written so far in hopes it motivates me to keep on pushing.
From Arcana’s Library Chapter 1. Do not judge too harshly. It is unedited.
The hum of the ceiling fan as it rotated above her head was methodical…rhythmic. Thwack. Thwack. It rotated around in not exactly a perfect circle, but on an axis like the Earth spinning through space. Perfect comparison considering the glow in the dark stars scattered over the ceiling, their iridescent green glow barely putting light into the room. And the room…a girl’s room. It was a room in transition, in limbo. There were so many girlhood attributes juxtaposed with a girl growing up. My Little Pony posters next to musicians. Toys overflowing a scarred old toy chest next to C cup bras and lacy underwear.
The bed itself was a bit confused by the occupant. It was twin sized with white twisted poles and a pink canopy. The comforter and sheets were a zebra print with dozens of unnecessary pillows. A white, fur throw blanket spilled off the bed onto a floor covered with empty CD cases, notebook papers covered in doodles, and a variety of other odds and ends. A desk was nearby with a computer from generations ago that would hum so loudly when turned on that it sounded like a car cranking up in the winter. There was a desk lamp that could have illuminated the room far better than plastic stars and several books from teenage romance series with less than perfect movie adaptions.
It was a nice room. The room has character. It was the setting in a teenager’s own story. It was where they hung out, where they went to escape whatever was beyond the bedroom door. It was a safe haven. This is exactly how it felt to Myra, the room’s sole occupant. She was also in the room, lying on the floor amongst her clutter. She stared at the ceiling tracing the arc of the fan with a single finger. The sun had gone down hours ago, but she still lies there. Dinner would be soon and these treasured moments of solace were what she wished for. Just the hum of a fan mixed with the beat of her heart.
Myra simply had so much on her mind these days. Her room, this room, was literally a way to get away from…well, everything. No one truly bothered her while she sat in here. It had only been a few months since she had even begun to settle in to this specific room. It had always been a room she merely visited on summer vacations. A room she visited during winter holidays or extended weekends. A room her mother brought her to when their old apartment got too heated with familial animosity.
Her mother was the reason this was now a permanent place.
This room was now more of a home then anything she thought she knew. The apartment had not truly been a home now that she looked back on it. It had been a place to stop through. It had been lonely. It had felt temporary. Her dad would come sometimes with her brother, but it had never felt permanent between them. Now, it was permanent because next door slept her brother and father.
But not her mother.
Her mother permanently slept.