Time for the end of year surveys!
Time for the end of year surveys!
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A certain little boy is now FIVE!
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After I moved here, for months I was fretting about my degree from Ohio State. I’m talking about the actual paper, the “diploma” if you will. I couldn’t find it. I was so scared I’d left it in the house somehow and it got thrown out or something.
I was beating myself up wondering why in the fresh hell wouldn’t the degree been one of the FIRST things I moved here? I had my high school diploma, and they were always displayed together, so where was my college degree?
I know Ohio State has to have record of my going there and graduating from there, and I could possibly get a copy of the actual degree/diploma with the case and all. But it still worried me that I might have been so careless with it. After all, I was the first in my family to ever get a college degree. I had teachers tell me I’d never make it through college. It’s a huge deal to me.
Well, earlier this week, I was making Adam
suffer look through some of my old scrapbooks with me. When I went into the little pantry thingy to get another book, lo and behold, there was a red book-looking thing! My heart leapt. Did I dare hope? Could it be?
I pulled it out, and opened it, and YES! Hooray! My DEGREE!!
Now it’s displayed in my bookcase.
Here it is!
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That’s all for now.
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I have this new laptop, so I really have no excuse not to write.
I have a framework that I pounded out with an agent, (at HER INSISTENCE!) so I have no excuse not to write.
I have an entire evening free, and most of tomorrow, and tomorrow evening free. I have no excuse not to write.
Why is it so hard for me to get started?
The other day, I was remembering how much fun I had when I was writing Only Yours. I spent EVERY free moment writing, and when I wasn’t writing, I was thinking about writing. Or talking about my characters as though they were real people. It gave me so much joy to work on that project.
Now, it’s like a weight. A constant dialogue in my head.
“You SHOULD be writing. You’re going to let people down if you don’t write. Oh great, you just wrote more CRAP. What is your problem? See these other authors? See your friends? See how they pound out great stuff? See how he got another book deal? See how she hit NYT? See how she finally got that offer? Oh look, that one went to auction. Why can’t YOU do that???”
When I am at work, all I do is sit there thinking “I can’t WAIT to get home and write.”
I get home and make excuses.
“The neighbor’s TV/stereo/sex-sounding workout is too loud.”
“I have to see what’s on email, Facebook, LiveJournal first.”
“Let me play a quick game or five of Anagrams.”
“Oh, I should see if Adam’s online.”
Well, Adam’s at work now. The neighbors are finally quiet. I’ve checked email/Facebook/Livejournal. I’ve already played Anagrams. So now what’s my problem?
The ideas are in my head. I can’t seem to get them out. Something is blocking me.
* * * * *
I’m afraid of failing.
I’m afraid of writing another 20K words and then realizing this doesn’t work either.
I’m afraid of finishing a book and having a crit partner tell me NO NO NO.
I’m afraid of finishing it, and having my agent reject it.
I’m afraid I don’t have another good book in me.
I’m afraid I won’t feel the magic I felt when I was writing Only Yours.
I’m afraid that I’m completely done.
I’m afraid that reading and editing all day mentally exhausts me, which is why when I DO buckle down, I do best on Sunday afternoons.
I’m afraid of getting started.
I’m afraid of enjoying it.
I’m afraid of succeeding.
I’m afraid of writing.
What if I have no more stories to tell?
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