Another in a series of keeping it real posts:
Today is one of those days where I have to work hard at staying
positive. I'd like to say there was some triggering event or external
reason for feeling discouraged, but there really isn't. The best I can
come up with is that I'm between writing projects again. I think I'm
most content when my imaginary friends keep me busy.
Otherwise, I think too much. I've always envied people like my husband who can fully relax, can let their minds drift. I am not one of those people.
My mind churns and when it doesn't have something to work on, it turns on itself.
Why yes, I *am* my own worst enemy.
So no new reviews for THE BETWEEN means no one will read it ever, not in a million years, not if it was the only book that somehow survived a catastrophic book-eating bacterium accidentally released from a mad scientist's laboratory.
No new sales means the popular books, with their beautiful, model-thin girls in ethereal dresses on the covers will be asked to the prom and my book will be home babysitting the obnoxious twins down the street on Saturday night.
Not hearing from my agent means she loathes the book I just sent her and is printing out all the emails I have ever written just so she can burn them in a cathartic bonfire.
My rational, adult mind knows how silly I am being. But when has logical thought ever beaten pure emotional angst?
What's nice is that the act of writing all this out helps me exorcise the self-pity demons. I can come back to some kind of balance where I understand that all my fears and insecurities are temporary emotions. They are not me. Part of what's so hard is coming to grips with how little control I do have. How others receive my work is not up to me. It's not even about me. Once I've written the best work I can write, I'm essentially out of the equation.
So, here I am doing what is under my own power: I am taking a deep breath, laughing at myself, and moving forward.
Ah, the glamorous life of a writer.