Someone coined this term on another blog, referring to the effect on creativity that comes from too much information about writing and publishing.
I've spent an hour this morning surfing various websites to gain information about editorial services and pricing. For a book I'm terrified to try to finish, for fear it will be horrible. It's all quite depressing.
The conundrum is this: I probably won't get published until I have shelled out at least a thousand dollars for writing conferences and editorial services to improve my manuscript. But I won't have the money to spend on those things until I get published. And don't feed me that crap about every business requiring investment. If I don't have it, I don't have it.
So why do I think I need an editor? Because I have taken the advice of some of my readers and tried to infuse my story with more emotion. The problem is that sentences like, "Her heart lurched wistfully" and "His heart was so heavy that he thought it would pull him tumbling down the path," (both actual examples from the current draft) make me gag.
If I put in too many more of them, I might vomit on my keyboard. But then, I haven't read any of Stephanie Meyers' books (at least not past the first agonizing, first-person, teenage angst-ridden paragraph of 'Twilight') and perhaps this is what readers want.
Do they? Or is it just romantic female readers - my most likely audience, unfortunately - who want this stuff spelled out for them?
My concept is large and glorious, and my ability to convey it woefully inadequate. I am constantly torn between trying to find the absolutely, perfectly right words, and wanting to just finish it so it can be done.
Can one write a masterpiece the first time out? Obviously, yes. It's been done before.
Can I be happy if I don't? Even if it's not published, I would be happy if I could satisfy my own internal critic. But I fear that she will never be satisfied, at least not at my current level of proficiency.
My heart is lurching wistfully in a manner that suggests I might vomit it onto the keyboard, if it doesn't pull me tumbling down the basement stairs when I go to check on the laundry.