Instead of doing something useful, (like getting some sleep, since I’m fighting an ear infection, and I have class in the morning) I’m sitting here in my bed, thinking about my book.
I’ve put a lot of time, and a lot of energy, and lately, a lot of tears into this book. You see, I’m really in the home stretch. I’m about 13,000 words away from being done with this thing, and that causes me an incredible amount of stress. This is big. Really big. I’ll be a published author. Self published, but still.
I lot of that stress has been related to concerns over people’s reactions to it. In real life, very few people even know I’m writing a book, and I think a lot of people would be um…. scandalized, maybe, by some of the content. It was even brought to my attention that as a Christian, some of the language and content may be considered inappropriate. Of course, there’s nothing vulgar, and we’re certainly not talking about any 50 Shades of Gray type stuff, but I guess I could see that. So I’m going to clean it up some before publishing, but that’s just a whole new layer of concern to add to everything else.
I’ve been so busy (doing what?) This weekend, between groceries, and birthday parties, and church, and making wreaths, and being sick that I haven’t typed a single word. It’s not even just busyness though, it’s like I have a mental block against it. That’s not to be confused with writer’s block though. The words are there, I just can’t seem to bring myself to put them down.
It’s almost like I can’t make myself finish. Once I’m finished, it will be time to publish. And once I publish? Well, it’s our there. It’s done. Time to be judged, and loved, or hated, or felt indifferently about, which is kinda worse than hated. And that’s terrifying. A little bit.
But I’ll have to get past that, won’t I?
Writing Myself Into a Corner