I’m learning to be proud of the small accomplishments. Okay, maybe I can’t do thousands of words in one day, but should I really be upset with myself if I just do 100 words? Or how about if I do no words at all, but instead, I sit around, watching movies, or reading book after book, trying to absorb what these authors and writers do, learning the craft, internalizing it, making it part of my blood?
At least once a week I tell myself I’m done. I’m giving up. The odds are too high, and I’m just not special enough.
But why do I keep wriitng down ideas? Why do I keep trying?
What does this mean?
False starts. “Crapters.” Thousands of words deleted–or actually, moved to the “Someday Maybe” folder. It’s so easy to beat myself up when I keep focusing on those things, instead of when the magic finally hits and a book is born. It’s easy, when in the throes of writing, to forget about all the false starts and throwaways.
But I’m learning now, to focus on the small things. I’m not going to be one of those people who can churn out masterpieces in two weeks. Therefore, I may never make a living selling books. But I have to stop comparing myself, forcing myself, hurting myself.
And I have to focus on those small victories. Else, I really WILL give up.
P.S. Everyone’s comments have been amazing! I didn’t realize people were still reading this journal until recently. Thank YOU for not giving up on me.