So I’ve finally started writing another novel. (No, it’s not a NaNoWriMo project; you can’t get word-count updates when you write longhand). To date I have 20 pages of scribble, and when I look at them from a certain angle I get a feeling of total futility.

The thing about writing with a pen on paper is that I’m not tempted to go back and read what I’ve laid down so far and either start tinkering with it or give up. As I push the pen, though, I keep thinking, “This isn’t going well. In fact, I think this might just be crap.” I compare the plodding feel of the writing with my plot aspirations and get that “Let’s crumple now” feeling.

But wait! I tell myself. This is a first draft. It’s supposed to be imperfect. In fact, it’s not so much the novel I want to write as…