Writing in Italy

I’m in Italy this week. There’s espresso, my gosh, finally a real one, and somewhere in the middle of all that, I’ve been deep inside my book again. 

I’m trying to make The Mindborn the best version of itself. Which apparently means spending hours debating one line. A line I wrote a year ago and still doesn't work, or maybe it does, but now I'm not sure anymore.

This week, I’ve edited with the kind of obsession that’s probably not healthy. I’ve questioned metaphors, deleted words I once loved, put those back in, argued with myself over commas, semicolons, em-dashes, and so on. But somewhere in there, something happened.

I fell in love with it all over again.

Not the polished version. The original one. The version that still has bruises. The one where Virginia cracks a little. Where Caio won’t shut up. Where Lilo whispers things. The version that reminds me the core of the story, the beginning of everything.

I’m not writing to impress anyone. I’m doing it because this story won’t leave me alone. Because I want to get it right. Because I care in a gut-deep way that makes you dream in dialogue and rewrite scenes in your mind while you walk your dog.

This week wasn’t relaxing. But it mattered.

And if you’re reading this and wondering if it’s normal to care too much about the thing you’re creating?

Yes. It is. Keep going. And love what you do.