I’ve been honest on this blog before about when I have bad days. When the words don’t come, when I haven’t written my book in some time, or when the pressures of this dream I’ve placed on myself are too much. That’s what this site is for. It’s meant as a way to explore everything that comes with the journey of trying to become a published author.
The rejection. The worry. The panic. The contemplation of whether or not this is a fool’s errand and if you’d be better off abandoning it altogether to go live in a landfill, wearing overalls and abandoned Jack-o-Lantern buckets on your head so the local newspapers can call you “The Halloween Bouncer.”
While I know most of these worries are shared by many others in this community of amateurs, it doesn’t alleviate what I’m feeling.
I haven’t written for Project: NESS in almost a month. On the task planner hanging above my desk is a deadline for Project: BIANCA. October 31. This month. So, according to my own self-imposed ambitions, I’m supposed to write two books by the end of this month (since I was supposed to finish Project: NESS by the end of August…) otherwise I’m a huge failure with nothing to show and should probably get started on that Halloween Bouncer costume right now.
At least that’s what I tell myself. And I know I’m telling myself that. My hyper self-awareness does nothing to stop this slow steamroller of a mental breakdown.
“My writing isn’t good enough. I’m not good enough. What’s the point of sitting in front of the computer to start writing a book I ‘abandoned’ a month ago. You’re always tired at night, so you can’t write then. You’re too tired to wake up earl in the morning, so you can’t write then either. The good words won’t come. This will amount to nothing. It’s not good enough to send out into the world and-“
And that’s when it hit me.
This “space” or blog or landing page or whatever is writing I’ve sent out into the digital void. It’s a summation of my thoughts, lessons, and fears, half-cocked into some kind of misconstrued form to resemble someone who appears like they have it together when, in reality, they’re just as scared and worried this is all for nothing.
But I do it. Every week. Sometimes once. Sometimes a few times more. But I do it. I write something I’m happy with, change up the settings, then hit the ‘Publish’ button in the top right corner.
Why should my fiction writing be any different? Why is that placed on such a high pedestal in my mind that it has to reach some completely unattainable level of “good” that unless I can climb that mountain and ring that bell, there’s no point to writing that day? This is the argument I have with myself. Unless I feel I can write the absolute best product, then I shouldn’t write.
I don’t believe this is the absolute best blog I’ve ever done. In fact, I wouldn’t even place it in the top 50% of best blogs. Not that I’ve ever done a ranking, nor would I have the standards for something like that ready to go, but the point is this is not the cream of the crop writing I pressure myself into doing.
I wanted to write. So, I wrote.
That’s all it should be. That’s all it needs to be. The good stuff comes with the leaving. Leaving your comfort zone. Leaving your fear place. I want to be a middle-grade author, to write the kinds of books I would have loved when I was a kid and to inspire the kinds of students I worked with to lead more magical lives. That’s why I’m doing this. The gas is already in the tank.
Hit the pedal.
I apologize if this is all over the place. I did my best to keep a through line, but it may have veered in a direction or two.
Still, got to where I wanted. Bounced the whole way.
Thanks for reading,