Saturday, September 20, 2014

the blank page

Writer's Block.

That darn cursor blinking at me. Taunting me. Daring me to write something, anything!

I try and I delete.

Delete. Delete. Delete.

I walk away. I say this will pass. I come back and I try again.

Delete. Delete.

the inkwell is just dry.

Part of the problem is wrapped up in an email I received awhile back from an editor/publisher friend. I figure I did something either incredible brave or incredible stupid. I sent her one of my unedited manuscripts for some constructive critiquing. Help! I said. I don't know what to do with this. Her response was overwhelming. First, in that she agreed to even read it. Second that she took the time to reply in very detailed and helpful ways. Thirdly, and probably most overwhelmingly, is the task before me. Actually doing the work of rewriting this novel. She ended her email by asking if I was up for the challenge.

I want to say yes. Yes, as in "I'm all in" but the truth is I am: Scared. To. Death. The task feels so big and I feel so small. I feel overwhelmed even before I begin so I don't start. I know, I know, the old "how do you eat an elephant", but honestly, that's still rather daunting.

I say I'm waiting for rainy weather when it will be easier to tie myself to the desk and start writing. I say I'm going to start tomorrow. I say I can do this. Then I say but do I want to?

Wouldn't it be easier to just do nothing and then never have to face failure? Yet isn't it failure to not even begin?

So, then I try to write other things.


Writer's Block.

maybe someone is trying to tell me something...

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