Credo for a Rewrite

My latest writing project adapting a couple plays I wrote two years ago into a novel, so for the past week I've been reading the plays and taking so many notes on it that I think the notes will be longer than the play itself. There's always this feeling of adventure when you start a writing project, especially when you're restarting one you have fond memories of, so I tried to capture that in this short note I wrote before starting.

I'm scared. All day I've been fantasizing about what it'll be like to return to the old drafts, like discovering lost secrets of an ancient ruin that you built by hand but forgot about eons ago. Soon I'll have turned the neat, stacked sheets of paper in front of me into messy, color-coded, nearly-illegible artifacts. And from all that I'll write a  novel, which I'll print out and let sit for awhile, and then I'll turn those pages into nearly illegible artifacts. And so on and so on, definitely for years, maybe for decades, until someday all those piles of paper will be made into a slim volume, which will get old and the pages will turn yellow and some copy will find its way into a used bookstore and someone will be struck by the cover art or something and buy it for fifty cents and, even if they don't like it, they'll still discover the same old ruins, except for this reader they will be new ruins, ruins made by someone they'll never know aside from a blurb on the back cover and whatever dumb photo they take of me. That probably sounds like a whole lot of hyperbole to most people, but it gets me excited. Excited and scared, because this scribbling feels sacred, something with real power to it, something that can inspire awe. And I'm standing on the precipice, not sure if I can follow through with it. Not sure if maybe all these delusions of grandeur will spoil it. Unsure if there's any meaning in the first place, or it it's all just ego.