This morning I got back on the pony and started writing the new book. Oh, beginnings, how I hate them. It’s like learning a foreign language every time I start a new project, it’s like arriving overdressed for a party. I’m painfully, horribly shy at the beginning, as if my characters already exist and are disdainful of my intrusion. I’m the three in the threesome, a kitten amongst the wolves. I’m lost, misguided, a nerdy virgin in the boys’ locker room. I am several other awful metaphors. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.
I hate this part.
What part do you hate?