So, yesterday, I finally started my next novel, and I started it off with a bang. I wrote roughly 3700 words, though I’m pretty sure they’re mostly crap. It happens. Especially with me. It’s a fact: I suck at writing beginnings.
I don’t know what it is about introducing characters and plot and world-building and all that, but I just can’t do it well. The first two chapters of The Clockwork Giant went through a dozen revisions each, and I ended up cutting the entire second chapter in the final draft. So, when I started writing the sequel yesterday, I decided I’d skip the beginning and just get into the story. I had been putting off writing because I wanted the beginning to be perfect right off the bat. A very unrealistic goal. Rather than drive myself crazy trying to get the beginning right, I just jumped into the story right after the introduction stuff would happen. And I wrote. And wrote. And wrote. I’ve never started a book so strong.