Doubt, That Uncertain Engine

One time over beers with my fiction-writing friend--let's call him Dan b/c that's his name--I mentioned that the highest point of excitement for me in working on a story comes at the beginning when I initially conceive of a new idea. It's a moment of euphoria, a glimpse of a wild possibility (and it strikes me now, often the highest point of emotion felt in relation to any story). 

It doesn't happen with every project, but when it does, the idea feels new and necessary. It's the proverbial lightning strike, and it once sent me on a seven-year journey writing a novel.

No, no, no, Dan said, laughing at my naïveté. You've got it backwards. The beginning and the revising is the hard part. Only when you've done the thing, when you've realized it and it works--that's when you can get hopeful.

My process: HOPE!-doubt-doubt-(hope)-doubt-(hope)-doubt-doubt

Dan's process: doubt-doubt-doubt-doubt-doubt-hope

(He doesn't get caps or an exclamation mark b/c he's the kind of guy you only ever see excited on the inside.)

What role does doubt play in the writing process? What role should it play? Are these different? (See, doubt, that ever-nagging beautiful imp.)

It's often the initial spin inside an idea that carries enough momentum to propel me through to the end. Without that first glimpse of something golden in the distance, it's hard to remember what I'm working toward. 

Or maybe I'm just lazy. Maybe I should be more dedicated to the work of work, trust the process and all that.

There it is again--case in point--the doubt, this uncertain engine inside the mind (my mind) pulling hope's rubber-band, testing its springiness again and again.

Here's a pencil from Kevin that came through yesterday on the final story of the collection, which I decided this morning in a fit of doubt needed to be retitled "Cri De Cœur."