Ok. So. It’s one of those days. The damn annoying but inevitable day of DOUBT. The ball to the face that is trying to make a living out of writing.
Welcome, my friends. Take an uncomfortable seat. There will be no refreshments, no toilet breaks and no opportunity for questions. Just sit there and bathe in self-pity, help yourself to the you-suck body wash, light the you’re-dreaming candle.
Lament your inability to write coherant lines, interesting dialogue and characters someone might actually give a shit about. Gnash your teeth at the critique you just received on Scribophile, hurl yourself onto the floor and pound your fists over your failure to show your brilliance in that short story you were certain was brilliant.
Rock yourself into a little corner along with your little talent, and go over and over that line in your beta read feedback that says you are not Hemingway. Or Rowling. Or even that Grade Two kid who got a star on their creative writing. Because that’s exactly what the beta reader meant when they said ‘maybe it’s a little too long.’ You know it.
Scream into the wind about your agonisingly slow crawl towards a thousand Twitter followers. Why did you unfollow me? WHY, twits, WHY? It’s my bio right? I sound like a loser. Knew it.
Put forehead to keyboard, pound, repeat, break keys, break skin, try to find motivation in that tiny, inept mind of yours to write next blog post. Stare at screen. Read first blog post where you were all gung-ho about doing this writing thing. Give that optimistic little moron a pat on the head and a slap on the cheek.
Tell husband that’s it. Your relationship with words is over, finished. Caput. Words and me are like Britney and Justin. Brad and Jen. Tom and Katie.
Decide to hop onto Twitter for one last hurrah. Give the bluebird a one finger salute and a sweet adios.
Find this at the top of your feed.
Today’s reminder: Someone will hate your book. Someone else will love it. Someone hasn’t found it yet. Someone else will need it.
Decide that its been way, way, way too long since you’ve had any reason to use this word –
Wipe the blood from the keyboard, tell the hubby your momentary madness has passed, rinse off the you-suck body wash and get the hell on with it.