It feels real good to say that I've started the (take two) edits on the novel. I mean REAL good. My chest didn't tighten. My palms didn't sweat. And my blood pressure stayed even. I'm still bummed to have to start all over...but the shock and grief and anxiety of losing those first edits(along with everything else) has lessened. I've accepted it and I'm ready to move on. I can't give up.
Also, yesterday I wrote out an outline of a story that I'm excited to start.
Despite the excitement, I plan to ease into my goals this time around. I'm notorious for plunging into the deep end with eyes closed, paddling around like a catfish out of Hell, ignoring that my arms and legs are ready to drop off. I become some sort of mutant super fish and take on everything I can, until I make like a pufferfish and explode.
Okay, that's a bit dramatic, but I have a wild imagination.
The thing is, my drive and ambition and desire is bigger than me. I acknowledge this, and accept it, even though I don't like it. But I'd like to think that I'm capable of making smart, healthy choices. I'd like to think that I have learned from past experience.
I'm in this career for the long haul. There's no sense burning out early.
I've missed the ROW80 challenge and am thrilled to be taking part again. Thank you to everyone who has been so supportive with kind words and cyber pats on the back. You've helped more than you may realize.