So….

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.

* * * * *

Fear

* * * * *

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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