Today’s post is a list of things that I’ve been too scared to admit.
Confession One: When writing, I constantly ride the roller coaster of self-doubt. When I’m up, I think: that sentence sparkles…it dazzles…it’s pure magic, but in a matter of seconds, I’m at the bottom and I think: the whole ms. is junk…I’ll never get it published…I should just delete the whole thing.
Confession Two: I read a blog post, from an agent I admire, where she wrote that she can’t handle reading novels involving terrorist, and that she knows many other New York agents who feel the same way. I understand. Really I do. But what does that mean for my novel and others?
Confession Three: Yesterday, when I submitted my contest entry, I felt pure abject terror, my hands shook, my heartbeat increased, and my breaths were shallow. I almost talked myself out of it. I’ve realized that putting yourself out there is scary, but putting your loved and cherished manuscript out for the world to read is worse. Far worse.
Confession Four: I’m addicted to writing…don’t want to ever give it up. When I die, they better bury me with a manual typewriter, paper, and lots of liquid eraser (does that still exist?), or at least several packet of pens and lots of notebooks.
What are your fears?