I don’t update this journal nearly enough as I should–which could only mean one thing: that I am NOT working on my writing.

The problem is FEAR. I fear that I will lose the ideas rushing around in my head. Twice, I’ve dived into new projects only to have them fizzle after about 20-40 pages. And then I ask myself–how can I possibly be a writer?

Several weeks ago, an email went out at work asking people to submit writings for display for the employee art show or something of that sort. I submitted a poem and completely forgot about it until today, when the boss of my boss asked me if I’d submitted the poem that was downstairs. My memory quickly retrieved that bit of information and I told her yes. “I had no idea you were a poet,” she said, looking at me with … admiration? She told me the poem was really good. I often forget that I have a poetic nature–I mean, let’s face it, poetry is not *that* popular, and my poetry tends to be very personal–usually written when I am very sad and overwhelmed by it. I don’t share it a lot.

To hear someone who has worked in editing and publishing for probably several years compliment me on my poetry made me feel good. I AM a writer, dammit.

If only I would just WRITE.

I want to write. The desire keeps me awake at night. My heart races as I am driving and picking up things here and there–letting this character grow in my mind. But when it comes down to it, I stop myself. I worry that I’m going to lose my momentum and thus toss another great potential story to the wayside.

Then I read. I read and read and read and feel that inspiration bubbling up in me again. And I want to write. But I don’t. It’s a vicious circle–I love it so much so WHY do I hold myself back from doing it? Why can’t I shut that dang inner critic up who keeps telling me the story sucks, not to continue?

Does anyone else find it this hard?

And rejections. Am I the only aspiring author that kind of gets them and thinks (for the most part) “Oh well, next time.” It seems that a lot of aspiring authors get kind of broken up over them. Only one actually nearly reduced me to tears–the others really did not. Of course, I do feel a bit disappointed. But I keep hoping for some reason. It’s very strange. I know the novel I am shopping around will be a HARD sell. I NEED an agent. And so many authors say to keep plugging, not to give up. I am always tempted to give up for about 36 hours after I get a rejection–but of course, I simply cannot. I guess that means I kind of believe in my work, huh?

Well, I must go. The cats are desperate to get into my bedroom (for whatever reason) and I’m going to get a shower, then ATTEMPT to write something.

Night.

(Originally published at Anywhere Is…)