I have spent the last few days feeling utterly and entirely uninspired by my work, which is normal after I’ve finished a draft/round of edits. I have to remind myself it is normal because every time it occurs it renders me incredibly despondent. This time, I couldn’t even waste time in my usual ways; all I wanted to do was stare out the window until it was 5 pm and I could pretend the work day was over.

But I have a new outline and new characters and new names in mind, so it isn’t all gone. Is it? And today I wrote again — blank slate, some words on the screen, watching personalities form. I am not in love yet, but I could be? Sometimes developing characters feels like playacting with dolls; what can they do next? Can I make Barbie and Ken kiss now? Where will they go from this point? The idea that I had in the middle of the day and emailed to myself doesn’t work in the morning. Characters become lovable and unlovable to me as I write, as they say things and do things that take off from what I had envisaged them to saying and doing, as they become unlikable and human, not just names.

I think part of the despondency is the uncertainty baked into this part of the process. What is this? What will it become? Who is this for? Give it a couple more hours and I will spiral again: have I fucked it all up? Is this where all of this ends? These are the things I should have thought about while I was writing, but of course I have never thought this way; working my way backwards from a goal would have been the smart thing to do (career wise, life wise, club wise) and yet all I do is pluck these ideas out of the air.