I rush my writing.
At least, I used to. Fingers would fly, keys would type, and one day and 10,000 words later, I'd be patting myself on the back. Before popping a tylenol and collapsing into a stupor, of course.
NaNoWriMo doesn't help. Neither do promises of "a book every few months!" that I see some authors making (and then delivering). I know I can do it. I've pumped one out in three weeks. You just wouldn't want to read it.
I've learned to let things bake.
Think about baking a cake. Or roasting a turkey. It's that extra time in the oven that makes it taste good. That gives it that succulence. That lets you contemplate the flavours that'll soon be melting on your tongue.
I bake my writing now. Every chapter. Every scene. Every sentence and every word. Heck, even my characters are thrown in there as well. I sprinkle on some fast pacing. Maybe add a cliffhanger or two. Then top it all off with an adverb. Just to add some spice. Then I'll let it simmer some more. It really does taste better.
And now, we eat!
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