I am a writer*

I am a writer*

I’m writing a novel.

Well, I’m attempting to write a novel. It’s my first so I don’t know how good it is and if anything will come from it. This may just be a pie in the sky sort of–


I have already written several drafts and gone through a bunch of edits. Now I’m rapidly getting to the part where I have to give this to people that I am not related to or friends with and ask them to read it and give feedback.

This is a little terrifying.

It’s still something I am going to do.

I’ve given the first chapter to some folks and the response has been pretty good but, well, it’s my parents and step-parents. As much as I hope they’re giving me honest feedback my inner self-doubt always points out they’re a little biased. My friends and husband haven’t had the time to read through it yet. I’m actually glad of that because I’ve tweaked the chapter a bit since I first sent it out. Ok, a lot, I’ve changed it a lot.

I’m so close to being done with editing I can taste it but I noticed a couple days ago that I’m starting to procrastinate a little more than I should. If I’m being honest with myself it’s because of fear. Once I’m done with these edits I have to send out a message to random strangers on the internet saying something to the effect of, “I wrote a thing. It’s 67,000 words and I need a few people to read through it and tell me what they think.” This is crazy scary to me. My inner critic is rather heartless but I can usually ignore her because I’ve dealt with her for years. I’m not sure how I’ll react to valid criticism of my work.

I’m still working on finishing though which, I guess, means I’m more interested in having a manuscript that I wrote than staying in my little introvert bubble.

I heard someone once describe doing what you love as something you want to do even when there are parts that terrify you. I though they meant stuff like job interviews which I always found to be an annoying and uncomfortable part of getting a job. Having someone else read a story that has only existed in your head and therefore provides a little insight into how your brain works is a different level of fear than I expected. or prepared for. It’s the kind of fear that makes me want to hide under the covers in bed or worse, it’s the kind of fear that makes me want to go and get a nice quiet office job where I don’t have to put out any creative energy. It’s the fear that keeps me from growing as a person.

I’ve tried the office job route a couple times. So far they just eat my soul and will to live.

Instead, I’m scaring myself and writing a story. Then I’m going to submit that story and see if I can get it published. It may not be this story that’ll get published but I’m ready for that (I have extra Thin Mints stashed in my freezer.) and I have a couple other stories I’m already working on.

I’m learning how to silence my self-doubt long enough to say “I’m a writer” when my Lyft driver asks what I do. I’m working my way up to saying “I’m a writer” to strangers I might see more than once.

I tried saying it to an author I met at a signing but it came out more like, “I’m kinda trying to write a thing that maybe won’t get published but maybe someday I’ll publish something.” Mumble mumble, turn 3 shades of red. The author in question very kindly asked me if I wrote consistently and when I answered yes, she told me to own it and push for what I want. I still want to kick my stupid self-doubt for blurting my hesitation so obviously but I’m so glad the author was kind enough to understand what I was trying to say and give me advice in that tiny moment.

So I’m editing away on this manuscript with the goal of having to do something very scary probably by the end of the month.

I’m looking forward to it. Maybe I’ll even suck it up and come up with a title for the damn book.

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