It’s no secret that my ultimate dream is to be a novelist, as in making all my money from writing books rather than the 9 to 5. But until that happens, I have to work a regular job to make a living. The lucky part is that my job still revolves around writing. The bad part?
It revolves around writing.
After writing dozens of short articles a week, it takes its toll on the creative writing I want to get done. Two weekends ago I began writing the novel I’ve been planning out for the last month. I got a good 3,000 words in over two days time. And then I set forth the best intentions to write a little each day so I could have a rough draft finished by the time the wedding rolled around. One and a half weeks later, I still have 3,000 words.
I meant to wake up early every day to write a little bit before work. But I’d accidentally on purpose never set my alarm early enough. By the time I come home from work, the distractions mount up and I make excuse after excuse about why I shouldn’t even open my computer and start typing. The truth is, after a full 8 hours of writing about events around Sonoma County, making our entertainment website purty, and publishing other people’s articles on the web, the last thing I want to do is type away on my book – even while simultaneously wishing I could be doing JUST THAT with no distractions around me at all.
That’s why I feel like I have no right to be consumed by the green-eyed monster when I see local authors presenting their newly published novels around the county. But I totally am. I feel like it should be me in that smiling picture, holding a hard bound book with my name on it.
I think the biggest thing it comes down to is fear. I want this so bad I can taste it. But I’m so afraid to create a finished product in case it fails miserably, or I discover I’m really no good. What happens if I finish one of my rough draft novels and present it to various agents, only to be told its utter crap? It’s likely to happen, as it’s happened to many now-published authors. But I’m not sure I can handle it.
And then there’s that – making the feat of publishing a novel seem so far out of my reach. Regular people have written amazing books. I’m a regular person too, and I feel in my heart I’m capable of this too. But I keep placing this goal high up on a pedestal, ranking it up there with winning a Gold in the Olympics or becoming royalty.
It’s just a damn book, Crissi.
At any rate, this is me – a totally jealous, procrastinating, frozen in my own fear unpublished author. I better do something about changing that label quickly before it sticks…..
So imagine this. You’re out to eat with your boyfriend. The two of you are enjoying the spring weather at an outside table, sharing the dessert from one bowl as you gaze into each other’s eyes. You’ve just said something witty and start to laugh, when you realize he isn’t laughing with you. His attention is elsewhere for a second before he turns back to you.
“My boyfriend left the house and I don’t when he’s coming back,” Jenny told me the other day on the phone. I listened sympathetically while she sobbed, relaying the whole story. A year ago in her single days, she’d had a few too many at the bar while out with friends. She ended up going home with one of her guy friends. Their friendship crossed the line quickly, but stopped after a heavy make out session when they had sobered up enough to realize that where they were going wasn’t somewhere they’d want to be in the morning. They stopped it short and promised to never speak of it again.
