I have been drafting a new project for the last couple of weeks and it’s killing me. Despite having one book published and two on the way, I am still ambushed by feelings of uselessness, of being rubbish, of not knowing whether I can actually write. It sucks!
The only way out from this mess (and I know it to be true) is to write, write, write until all my thoughts are on the paper and none are left in my head to sabotage the day. Unfortunately, this isn’t as easy as it seems. Or is it?
I just read this post from The Craft of Writing Fiction and realised: I am useless and I am rubbish, until I drop all the moaning and groaning and just get on with what I love to do. Why torture myself with this writing gig unless I love it? And if I love it, why torture myself?
And now, inspired, I’d love to get on with the job of writing. Only thing is, Fergus is about to wake up…
But so what? I’ll grab the ten minutes while I can. (Thanks Rebecca)
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