Due to huge personal reasons, time and world has been slipping me by these last couple of months. In terms of writing, there hasn’t been a great deal of actual tip tapping at the keyboard at the novella and novel I’m currently working on, but there has been a HUGE amount of thinking (I’m stuck on the novella. I was hoping to publish it in time for Christmas but that’s gone out the window now as I play around with points of view and tenses and try to figure out where the hell I’ve gone wrong with it).
There have been high moments (those wonderful Eureka! moments) and there have been the low (where I pester my husband as to why I’m not published only for him to remind me that I haven’t approached any agents or publishers yet, duh).
The other day he told me in a very loving, gentle voice to finish whatever it is I need to finish and to submit my novel, to get it out there into the world. That means writing the synopsis. Something that has been on my to do list for the last two, maybe three, months.
Why on earth haven’t I written it yet? I haven’t even really tried. What am I so afraid of? It can’t be rejection. Rejection = confirmation that you are a writer. Rejection is a necessary evil to success.
Ah, that’s it. Success.
I said there were personal issues happening at the moment, which there are and they are massive. So massive that I tend to bury them and pretend they don’t exist only to be knocked back again and again each time they raise their ugly head. This too shall pass, I know, but in the meantime I’m stuck, floundering on the waves of life.
Writing has been something of a saviour for me during this period. Writing is the only constant I’ve had throughout my entire life (except for the love and support of my parents, of course). Writing is how I’ve always been identified, it is my identity.
What happens if I fail? What will happen to me?
Of course, a writer can’t think like that and the obvious course of action is to ignore those fears and plunge ahead. Reading the blogs and articles written by publishers and agents doesn’t help – all they do is further my anxiety. So, head down and persistence seem to be key.
I’ve been repeating to myself that if I should fail at becoming a successful writer, I can still write for me. However, that doesn’t help with the potential for a lifelong dream being reduced to tatters. But then, that’s the great thing about writing. The writer has control over that dream, and writers never give up (and never surrender), although they may retreat back into the dark and write for themselves for a while.
So here we go. Time to write that synopsis and cover letter. Time to put myself out there, forget about it (I will forget about it, don’t worry mum) and carry on with my novel (which I’m really enjoying) and this pesky novella which is in need of counselling…