With thirty pages of miscalculated plot lines spiraling into oblivion, that’s how. Thirty pages that have to be ripped out of a precious notebook- each page ripping the author’s heart a little more.
I feel like Mark Watney performing surgery on himself. After surviving the Horrible Storm of Writing Fury and everyone thought I- and perhaps my story- was dead, I awoke to the realization that my book was a metaphorical shard of metal piercing my soul and I had to painstakingly remove it by ripping out the infectious pages and getting back to the plot.
I will survive! As long as I know how to write, I know I’ll never die. I’ve got all my life to live, and I’ve got all my books to write, I’ll survive. I will survive- HEY-HEY!