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OK, I thought re-doing Max would be fun and challenging. Instead it is Hard Work and Annoying and Bothering Me. I keep feeling that I’ve thrown the baby out with the bathwater. What I need to wrap my head around is that this is essentially a whole different book. Right now it is also a very short book. (Chapter 13 is now Chapter 3, with more cuts to come.) I’m thinking I need a subplot, but don’t want to have to rewrite *every sheeping word*. There’s a big piece of me wanting to just walk away from the whole damn project and announce it as a Fail. What made me think I could be a writer, anyway?

It’s funny–all this time I’ve been thinking that my main goal in life was to get Max published. Now I think I’ll be pretty spiffed if he’s ever finished. I don’t write this way, where I tear things apart from the ground up, and I fear I will be killing much of what I and others have found charming about my style, such as it is. But . . . not getting to the main PLOT until half the book was all bathed in backstory is unforgivable, at least for a newbie needing to get and hold people’s attention. Why did it take me two years to figure this out? How embarrassing.

My only guess on that one is that I haven’t been working hard enough, which is also embarrassing. I am seriously thinking of just giving up the whole peer specialist gig, which is like a big hungry baby invading my boundaries and sucking me dry every week. I’m hoping that this two-week break will help me realign my head.