Now that I've gotten back in the groove of writing (aka, I'm not rolling around on my bed moaning about how this book just doesn't work and my characters aren't believable, followed by flailing around various rooms—wherever Cody is so I'll have an audience, because pity parties are better with an audience—with long wailing sounds reminiscent of whale songs, and instead my writing time is filled with the sounds of the keyboard keys clicking away) I can take a more philosophical approach to the bad parts of writing a book. The wound is no longer fresh. The memory of the pain has receded.
So this quote, taken from Devon Monk's post on Deadline Dames, seems like a token of hope to me now, like the leftover chocolate chips in the bottom of the box after all the cookies are gone:
"I think as time goes on, writing becomes more predictably difficult, but the frustrations, bumps, glitches, fears, failures, challenges that you’re feeling right now never go away."
She also comments on how, while it is work, writing is and should be fun, but it was the line above that stuck with me. Yes, there will be times in the future where the blog posts become text tears and literary moaning again. It's inevitable. And in some way, that's very freeing.