Some nights I wake up screaming.
The nightmare has come again to taunt me. Who in the world do I think I am? Declaring myself to be a writer. Declaring that I am going to be a published author. Presuming that I am good. What if I fail? Sheer terror consumes me.
What if I fail?
The thought is inconceivable. I have too much riding on this endeavor. Too many people to prove wrong. Too much to prove to myself. “I can’t fail” whispers the clam and measured voice. There is a plan and I am working the plan. Every day. The story has become a part of every atom within me. I feel anxious if a day passes and I am not able to press fingers to the keyboard to move the story to the page.
The basis of optimism is sheer terror. — Oscar Wilde
Now I am an optimist it seems. There is no way I can fail in my goal. The story is being written. I will revise and edit and rewrite to ensure that it is good. It will be published and I will write another and another.
Last week I only managed to add 2,500 words to my slowly increasing total. It doesn’t feel like nearly enough, but it is more than I had last week. Review the plan. Work the plan.
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer