This morning, rather than diving into my regular writing routine, I did nothing. Actually, that’s not entirely true…I allowed my brain to become paralyzed with fear. What if writing this book doesn’t work out?
Here is the mental list that has been running through me brain and then my responses to myself (that’s sort of weird, I realize):
What if I never finish? I still haven’t even nailed my first plot point down.
The reality is, life happens. I might not finish, but I need to at least try. But I think it’s really starting to fall into place and look good.
What if I have to keep rewriting for too much time and it takes years?
Even if it takes years, and I enjoy it, and I’m growing through, then so what? It’s like exercise, it’s good for me. I want to do this for the rest of my life, no matter what.
What if, when I’m done, no agent will have it?
If I love it, I won’t care what anyone else thinks about it…hmmm…not sure if that’s true. Too much pride. But lessons in humility are good – so that would be useful in and of itself. Honestly, at that point, I would have to choose between rewriting or starting something new. Staring something new might be hard but good…especially in light of the experience I will have accumulated.
What if I self-publish, and only half a dozen people read it?
I don’t think I want to self-publish: I would rather email it to/print it out for any interested friends and family.
What if I do publish, but it’s a total flop? Or, everyone thinks it’s weird?
If I do manage to publish, that’s awesome in and of itself – if I get to that point, there should be no reason for me to complain. I need to get over it.
Okay. Time to go write (my book).