On my desk sits my printed novel, hefty, crisp, fresh off the printer. It’s still warm. A light musty scent wafts from the pages. My eyes stray to it time and time again and my fingers itch to take it up and read. I’ve promised myself I wouldn’t reread it. It’s done. Finished. It goes out on the 1st.
“But,” a small pesky voice nags in my ear, “Just once more won’t hurt. It’s not like you’re going to rewrite it again.”
I steal another glance and my heart jumps. Did I fix that bland scene where Jamie confronts Josh about his lies? Is the final battle between Jamie and Sarah heart-pounding or just blah? And is Pennie’s voice consistent throughout? Maybe just a once over, just to make sure. No rewrites, unless it really needs it.
“Oh just give it a rest already,” my inner critic scoffs. “It’s just a load of rubbish anyway. No amount of rewrites is going to fix that. You can’t polish a turd you know. Dump the whole thing in the trash, that’s what you need to do.”
“Behave!” snaps the Muse. “It’s brilliant, every word expertly crafted. I know, I told her what to write.”
“Sure it is.” Critic rolls her eyes. “Keep her hopes up why don’t you. You’re just setting her up for an even worse disappointment in a few months.”
I launch myself from the chair, knocking it to the floor. “Screw this. Screw you!” I grab a fresh cup of coffee, a couple of doughnuts, the manuscript and my notebook. I’ll just double-check. No harm in that. Right?
“What you need is a beta reader love,” coos a new voice, sweet, and seductive.
Sometimes, I really hate the voices in my head.