With a couple weeks of time since I last looked at it - time enough to put some distance between me and the anger and disgust I felt when I first looked at it when it came back from the editor (anger and disgust with myself, not the editor who actually did a very thorough job) - I took a little bit of time tonight to start revising my manuscript. I'm starting with the easy changes the editor suggested - changing a phrase here and there, making grammatical changes, etc. I still don't have a clue how to fix the bigger issues of character development, strengthening the story, etc. I wish I had someone to help me, but I'm alone on this one, unless some burst of divine inspiration comes my way.
I'm still trying to convince myself that the story matters. It's hard to explain the way I feel about it. I enjoyed writing the story, but I feel ashamed of its weaknesses. Also, I'm very conscious of how I use my time. I try hard not to waste it. Is writing fiction worth my time? No one but me cares if I do it or not. Very few people even know that I write. Will the world be better in any way because of this story? Probably not. I pray to write what I should when I should, to get published if and when I should. Is my ambivalence an answer to the prayer? Am I meant to surrender? Am I not meant to travel this road? Or is it just something I need to work through - to conquer my own fears, to write even though there is no tangible reward in sight. I honestly don't know.