Since taking the leap and declaring myself Writer a few months ago, I wrote a short story and participated in NaNoWriMo during which I completed the first draft of a novel.
Since then? Hmm... well, there were a few blog posts here and there.
I could say work on my house (we’ve been reflooring). I could say I’ve been busy (there were the holidays, then getting back in to my older son’s school routine, a shifting nap schedule for the little one, meetings, appointments, etc.). I could say I’m waiting until I’m finished with Kristen Lamb’s Blogging for Brand course so I can do things “properly.”
I could say anything I want, but the fact of the matter is there is time to write. I can make time to write.
The truth is I’m afraid.
I’m afraid that I don’t like the middle of my completed novel and that I don’t know how to fix it. I’m afraid that I don’t know whether I should continue working on the NaNoWriMo novel or go back to my previously in process novel (for which I’m also afraid because I don’t know where it’s going). I’m afraid of conflict; I have trouble making bad things happen to good characters.
I’m afraid that if I blog, I won’t be able to write stories. I’m afraid if I write stories, I won’t be able to blog. And I like writing both.
I’m afraid that I will write crap and not realize it’s crap. I’m afraid I’ll get published and have all of my flaws ever be spread to the public. Did she really write that? Does she know proper grammar? Has she heard of plot? Did she really have braces for five years because she refused to wear the rubber bands?
I’m afraid that by writing posts like these, I’m not appealing to some future reader demographic.
I’m afraid that no one will read this.
What’s a girl to do?
Focus on the now.
Looking ahead causes panic. I still laugh thinking back to an example Christine Kane gave once about excuses- you can’t possibly write a song if you have nothing to wear to the Grammy’s.
Don’t I feel silly now.
If everyone stopped themselves from writing when they were afraid, we’d probably be left with only the sterile spewing of pompous know-it-alls.
We might find ourselves absent of anything to read with real emotion. Or maybe we would be just fine because I’m the only writer in the entire world who has ever been afraid. I doubt it, though.
Today I am focusing on today. That’s all. And today I say write anyway.
Inner demons, I banish thee back to hell. You’re not needed here.
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