If all goes as planned, I’ll be sending my hundredth attempt at writing a novel out into the world within two weeks. Okay, hundredth may be an exaggeration. I can’t list how many times I’ve started writing, thinking I want to be a writer, and then talked myself out of it. We are our own worst enemy though, aren’t we. This is stupid, we think. No one would want to read this. And eventually we’ve talked ourselves out of a dream we’ve always had and continued on with our 9 to 5 Monday through Friday as if that is what we’re meant to be doing, as if that’s all we’re capable of. It’s taken years for me to convince myself that I can do this, too many years. I hate that I wasted those years. I refuse to waste any more.
I have no idea what made this year the year I decided to go for it. I have no idea how I finally got it through my thick skull that I’m fully capable of making a dream of mine come true. I just know that I picked up one of the started but never finished novels I still have (I trashed so many) and started working on it. I’ve dedicated myself to it. I can’t explain what an accomplishment it was to have a beginning and an ending. I can’t explain how excited I get when, through my editing, bits and pieces of this thing that came from my imagination start to make even me feel things that I hope the eventual readers will feel.
As of today I’m 90% through my own editing. I’ve labored, poured myself into words and obsessed over the story I’m writing. I’m shooting for the end of this week to be able to hand it off to the trusted few to offer more editing and feedback before I send it off to publishers. I can’t believe I’m at this point after so many years of belittling myself, of wasting myself, of never making my own dream come true. I’m excited. I feel accomplished.
I know there will be rejections. I know my fantasy novel won’t be everyone’s cup of tea and that’s okay. I’m not a super fan of every book I read either. I’m doing it though, I’m actually doing it. I’ve written over 90K words, have a beginning and an ending and am thrilled with what I’ve produced. This is more than I’ve ever been able to say before. I hope that by the end of this week I can hand it off. If not then, by my self-imposed deadline of next week. I know I can do this.
I’m a writer. I’m a writer. I’m a writer. Next goal: I’m a published author.
In the meantime, I feel like I’m kicking ass everyday with the progress I’m making. Kicking ass feels good.