I’ve been kinda flippant during most of this challenge, but a couple of days ago I had confidence crisis. I pulled out a pen and notebook to do this post, and this is what I wrote, word for word, my thoughts and feelings undiluted and uncensored:
Even I have days where I feel like I can’t make this writing thing work. My ultimate goal, like so many of my fellow writers, is to scrape a living doing something I love. I don’t need much. I don’t need fame or theme parks built in honour of my characters (though a girl can dream). I just want to write. Mostly I stay optimistic and focused but sometimes I look at the handful of sales I’ve made for a trilogy that took me six years to complete and I wonder whether it’s worth it. I’m not bleating, just being honest. I know that when it comes down to it, they’re just books. No one dies if they don’t sell. I have my family and friends and health. I have a decent job and hope for the future of a different kind. Even so, some days, it feels like the sky is falling in.
That was what I wrote down. But then I remembered this blog post and it reminded me of the reasons why I write. I write because I have to or my head would explode and there would be mixed up stories splat all over the wall and they wouldn’t make any sense to anyone, least of all me.
Today, I’m back to my annoying, flippant self again. I may delete this post, who knows? It feels like a weakness I shouldn’t be admitting. Or maybe it’s weaker not to admit it that sometimes I get down too.