Sometimes I’m afraid to write. I lie huddled in fetal position on my bed, hoping that something very interesting will pop into my brain. I avoid the computer, even to read emails. I fear that I have already written any interesting thing that may ever come out of me. I fear that someone will realize that I was a much better writer when I was in college and wonder what happened to me. (I know what happened to me. I found something I love more than words. More than writing. Four somethings: Jana, Kate, Ellie and Matthew.)
But now that I have a book coming out, I know it will be easier to get another published. All that stands between me and a little advance check is sitting down to write. And some days I’m just too afraid to do it.
Confession: I have 4 books started. I am petrified by all of them. One has great characters. One has great voice. One has a plot (!) and one makes me laugh out loud when I read over what I’ve written. So why can’t I just buck up and get one finished? Because I’m a chicken. I’m a little afraid that I’ll get my stuff out there and reviewers will thrash it. (That will happen, I’m sure.) I’m afraid that people I love will think I’m a little petty or a little stupid or a little lame or a little childish or a little unimaginative.
But I need to get over it. Because there are good stories in here somewhere, and I am probably the only one who can get them out. Because there are girls and maybe boys who want intelligent, fun, clean stories to read, stories that will give them courage to do hard things. Because life is funny, if you learn to look at it the right way. And I’m pretty sure I can shed a light on that right way.
So get to work, me. Fear not. Be not afraid. Sit down and write. Just do it. Yeah. All that.