The hardest block I’m trying to work through is the “you need to be working on more important things than this silly dream of yours” block. This block is more dangerous than writer’s block, in my opinion, because this block convinces me that my writing is a waste of time, that I’ll never make it, that this is a stupid daydream and that I need to give up on it and get a job at Applebee’s or something to make ends meet, instead of wasting time trying to write something that an editor will buy. Then something that people will buy.
At least with writer’s block, one has the desire and the will to write. The YNTBWONMITTTSDOY block is one that induces guilt, and shame, and makes me feel as though I don’t really have a right to do this, because there’s nothing really to strive for other than a bunch of useless manuscripts to shove under the proverbial bed, a lot of wasted time, and nothing really to show for it.
I am scared that all of my friends will realize their writing dreams, and I’ll be left in the dust. And I especially fear that this is something else I can add to the “just not good enough” pile. Once upon a time, I’d considered myself anything but ordinary. But now, I think I’m nothing but ordinary.
And as much as that thought disappoints me, it doesn’t surprise me. It’s how I’ve always thought of myself.