So, I guess it’s no secret. I like to write.
Even better, I like for people to read what I write and enjoy it. Ideally, I’d like for people to buy the stuff I write. I think I’m a good writer. There are days I think I’m a great writer.
But there are days when I’m increasingly sure that I’m no kind of writer at all. Those are the days when it eats at me that I’ve yet to land an agent. That I’ve yet to land interest of any kind from a Big Six publisher. There are days I think my alligator mouth has overloaded my jaybird ass — that all the big dreams I’ve ever had are never going to come true.
I do a lot more wishing than I do writing. And that’s a problem. Because now when I sit down to write, I begin things and don’t finish. I end up just letting things peter out. I’ve got a wicked little YA novel that needs editing. I’ve got four–count ’em, FOUR–novel-length manuscripts in the works. I’ve got ideas for two others.
I feel the desperate need to write, but I ignore it. And when I do sit down to write, nothing comes. Or what comes is a juvenile mishmash of word vomit that I’d be ashamed to show anyone. Self-doubt takes over and I consider never writing another word. Ever. But then the itch comes back. It’s like herpes — that shit never goes away. The urge to write may take a short hiatus, but it always, always comes back. I feel incomplete and at odds with myself when I don’t write.
So I end up acting like Hamlet. But instead of being, I vacillate about writing. My friend, Cassie Clarke, has heard me threaten to quit writing so often that she simply tells me to shut the hell up and get back to it, because she knows I’ll be writing again soon anyway. And she’s right.
The trouble is, I won’t be publishing. Not without an agent. Not without a publishing contract. I’ve thought and thought about going indie, and if I can grow my platform enough, I wouldn’t mind doing that. But it’s a moot point if I grow an audience without ever producing anything.
I was joking with the lovely Anne-Mhairi (that’s Anne-Marie to us colonists) Simpson that what I really need is a man with a gun, who will point it at my skull until I sit in a chair and write a gorram novel.
Anne-Mhairi (Anne-Marie, remember?), MB Mulhall, Jessica Corra, Valerie Haight, Angi Black and Melody Platz were all very kind to offer great words of encouragement. It’s hugely appreciated, y’all.
I’ve got to get over this hump and get back to writing. Even if I’m not as good as I think I am, I want to improve. I want my name on a book you can walk into a store and buy.