I'm going to be honest with you today, but that isn't to say that I have been dishonest with you in the past. No, but I am going to be completely candid. I feel like crap. I feel insufficient, inadequate, incompetent, inept, many other words that begin with in-.
If you have been with me on this blogging journey since I began trekking along it in 2013, you will know that I have gone through my shares of ups and downs. That's normal. That's the human condition. We ebb and flow. We fall and get back up again. We fail but we keep trying.
Today was the first day that the thought really crossed my mind: you're not going to make it. This is it.
It was a statement.
A quiet one, a voice that wished it not to be true.
I'm talking about my writing of course, specifically about becoming a published author. I have asked myself the question every artist ever has likely asked themselves: what if you don't make it? That's humble. That's normal. That's the human condition.
The more I read my book, the more I compare it to the work of others (I know, a big no-no but come on) and other writers have shared the same feelings of utter inadequacy. I just participated in a Twitter chat yesterday in which writers listed "not feeling good enough" as one of the biggest reasons that writers set aside projects. So it is common. It is normal. It is human.
But I don't know, I'm in a place that is deep and dark. In a place where I am questioning the worth of my words and the extent of my abilities. Is not succeeding in this thing that I have fought for an option? Sure. Of course. But is it an option I control? I don't know. It's weird to be in this place because even though I manage a blog literally beginning with self-loathing, mentally, I do also embody that positive latter of the title. The side that allows me to have a loss, mourn it, correct it, push through it. I'm just not sure if I have those encouraging words for myself anymore.
Maybe this is what being in the dreaded query phase does to you because you're waiting for someone else to determine the future of something that has until now been unequivocally yours. Wanting something, desiring something, envisioning what your life could be like is so so personal. I mean, when you put your work out there you're basically placing your bloody heart into the cavity of someone else and you're hoping it will carry the same weight for them as it does for you.
And it's scary because it simply, heartbreakingly, might not.
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