I’m making progress on the “shitty first draft,” as Anne Lamott calls them, of my wannabe novel, What Would Jeebus Do. I’ve tattooed the title on my arm and put it on my cap, both strategies to make sure I don’t bail on myself. Bill Kenower, with his stellar book, Fearless Writing, has convinced me this is worth doing, even if nobody ever reads it or the two relatives who do think the final draft is no better than the shitty first draft.
Here’s a part I feel pretty good about: The Dream
I’m doing this novel thing because whatever part of my soul that wants to do it is tired of being ignored, tired of being told it sucks, tired of being compared to real writers, blah, blah, effing blah. I intend to show this part of my soul some love for a change, instead of locking it in the back room when company comes over.
Question: What part of your soul are YOU hiding?