I suspect that many writers also fight with their internal editors. I do wonder, though, how many fight like I do. For the past three years, I was winning. I managed to produce almost half a novel. Yet recently, the internal editor has roared back with a vengeance.

The half-novel has been scrapped, and I’m struggling to begin anew.

As a writer of fantasy, and a fan of JRR Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit, I like things to move more slowly. In fact, my favorite part of the entire LoTR trilogy is the very beginning, before the action even starts. Perhaps it’s no real surprise then, that my new novel is going well, but is paced so slowly.

I don’t actually like to take things at a breakneck speed. Neither do I like to read stories that move too quickly. I like to savor the characters, their settings and everything the author has worked so hard to build.

That’s just the way I do it.

Unfortunately, I wandered too far down the dolly aisle and found…another brand of adorable doll. I believe they’re called Moxie Girls? These dolls are very, very sweet looking in the box. They have huge eyes and tiny mouths, and it made me think of anime and manga.

I bought two. They really were precious! However, as soon as I got home and tried to extricate one from her box, I realized there was a problem. The poor thing was horribly over-packaged. Tape everywhere! It took me far too long to get her free, and her hair was a mess. I couldn’t smooth it out with a comb. It’s not as high quality as Antoinette’s or even Barbie’s.

She’s still such a cute little thing, but I’m rather disappointed. I’m also too nervous to take the other one out of her box. Oh well, I’ll get over it. In the meantime, I suppose I’ll need to mess around with those Ken clothes I bought for Antoinette.

Oh well, time to work on my notes I suppose.

I suppose that since she is a character in a fantasy novel, I can’t really blame her for anything. It’s nice to try though. I find writing easier when I can think of my characters as real people rather than as configurations of words on a blank page.

My transcripts have not been received by Guilford, but I at least have the consolation that when I called the registrar’s office at my old school, I was told that they would be sent again.

And….I’ve scrapped half of my unfinished novel.

All in all, things are not going well.

She’s beautiful, yes. So are my two little Antoinettes…It’s nothing about the line he’s created for each of them. Frankly, I think some of Antoinette’s clothes are ugly. Although, I must admit that others in the line are really cool.

Tyler Wentworth comes with a story, supporting characters (other dolls) and her own line of fashion. It’s not as edgy Antoinette’s, but very chic nonetheless. Edgy isn’t always good. Sometimes you can fall over that edge and flat on your face. The problem is that to me, Tyler is just a grownup’s Barbie. Like Barbie, Tyler has friends, cool clothes, but no real personality.

My barbies were never Barbie. That’s why I was able to love them. Perhaps if my Tyler stopped being Tyler Wentworth the famous fashion designer, and started being who I wanted her to be, that would be enough.

I’m not an overly-sentimental lady who dresses her collection in frilly lace and puts them in baby carriages. I find that stereotype both condescending and annoying.

For me, dolls are more than toys. I played with mine even when my friends had all discarded theirs. Imagination is very important to me, and my dolls were a way to bring my daydreams alive, no matter how outlandish they were. Barbie is the ultimate stunt double.

Once, a friend and I put on a soap opera with our dolls. The thought makes me grin, still. It was fifth or even sixth grade when we did this, a little old for us to be playing with dolls.

Those dolls have long been consigned to the attic, sadly. Maybe I need to get them down.

I think I’ll go do that.

I’ve tried to give myself a break by writing something different, but that hasn’t worked either. Maybe that’s a good thing? I’ve been writing the same novel for over two years, and I’m still not finished. Would another story distract me or refresh me? I really don’t know.