I’m approaching the 2nd draft of my novella much like an allotment – little and often has a cumulative effect. I don’t have the luxury of endless uninterrupted days gazing wistfully through café windows, notebook and pen ready for my next inspired thought – though that is my aim.

Ten minutes can be enough – a tweak to an awkward sentence or a shift in an unrefined idea. Two longer sessions a week work for me. There is progression, so for now, I’m happy with my approach.

I have a deadline. A competition I plan to enter. Although it’s more about a finishing date to work towards, I need that touch of pressure.

Writing a boring book is a real risk. I’ve re-read my 2nd draft and realised I’m holding back on my voice. I can’t have that! It’s useful to consider why some of my words are currently predictable and blah. Low confidence could be sneaking in, but I don’t want to give that too much space. The age-old adage of ‘show, not tell’ is key for all writers. A dull clunkiness sets in where my phrasing and scenes lack depth.

I’m looking back at sentences and scenes, and rewriting them as if telling the story to a friend. It’s working. The flow is there – it’s rolling along nicely now.

Understanding the themes of my novella is deep work. The story has come from somewhere other than just my imagination. My protagonist is complex and layered, not the easiest person to reach, and everything that happens on her journey represents something beyond place, time or experience. As I get to know her, it is clear she’s on a path, hacking away at obstacles, plodding along, or walking with purpose and lightness. Much like writing a book!

One thing that is now crystal clear is that 1st drafts are comparatively easy – you just bash out a load of words and then feel pleased with yourself. But that, of course, is only the start. Onwards.

I ploughed through my chaotic stream-of-consciousness first draft in 37 days. I knew it didn’t make much sense, and that was fine – such is the way of first drafts. The last 10,000 words were bashed out in a perfectly blank hotel room in Tunbridge Wells with a ‘you can’t edit nothing!’ mentality.

Now, though, I’m working on the second draft, and I’m having huge doubts about an entire section. If I’m not very careful, that doubt could extend to the entire manuscript. And then I’ll ditch it, feel like an abject failure, start writing something else, and carry the seeds of self-doubt into the next project.

So, the best thing to do is recognise that self-doubt is part of the drill.