By that I mean, I've finished covering the printout of the first draft of my novel with green ink, and am about halfway through typing up the second draft. I'm pretty happy with the novel where it's at, though there are a couple of scenes I intend to go through and add, or rewrite, entirely -- the third draft is essentially going to be spot edits. I typed fifty pages up on Saturday, and that was long and painful and awful to do, but it's necessary work.
On a more personal note, I don't mind doing necessary work, even when it sucks. I'm okay with going through the arduous task of retyping my entire novel, working through the annoyingly poorly scribbled green edits, over the course of several hours. It's not fun, but it's not emotionally painful.
I'm willing to work much harder, in fact, to complete the sort of necessary but unpleasant work that leads to me finishing something like a novel, than I am willing to work towards creating something I don't care about, or creating nothing at all.
There's a lot of work out there that adds up to essentially nothing. There are jobs that support systems I don't just care little about, but that I actively disdain. There's a lot of stuff in this world I don't like, and people put a lot of work into making that stuff.
It's not just that those jobs are hard. I'm okay with hard work. I like hard work, insofar as I like going to great lengths of effort to create things I think are important. What I'm not okay with, what I'm not willing to do, is hard work to create things I hate.
I love writing. I think it's important, and I think it makes the world a better place. So I'm going to do about 100 pages of not-very-fun typing in the next five days or so, happily.
Talk to you tomorrow.