Fears

For about a month now, I've been unable to write and concentrate on my novel. I thought I'd be over it by October. Honestly, I've never gone this long without writing, even when I was in grad school and had to work three different jobs to support myself while dealing with regular critique sessions.

For a while, after quitting my library job, I was on a roll. I came back from Arizona completely inspired and I wrote and researched and wrote more. It felt like ecstasy.

I've always been a creative person. Being productive has never been my problem until now. Last night, I talked with my mother about it and she said something that made sense to me: "The more creative you are, the more mistakes you're gonna make. Trying to avoid those mistakes will destroy your creativity. So just go for it! Break some plates, have some fun with it."

Her words were a temporary relief. I wrote a little yesterday, about 1600 words. When I woke up this morning, those voices of doubt were back in my mind. This scene is stupid. What if readers get confused? What if readers don't like it? What if no one vibes with it?

I truly understand why Micheline Aharonian Marcom used to tell our class not to be concerned about the reader; she would also tell us not to be concerned about getting published. At least not in the writing stage.

There is no one person who can be the ultimate universal reader. I can make adjustments for 2 or 3 people, query another group and maybe they'll hate it while the other group loved it. I have to be the one who's in love with it and right now, I'm not. I'm being too critical and less creative.

I'm trying to run away from these voices but it's very hard. People have written about how they deal with their own inner critics. If I don't do something soon, I fear I won't be able to bounce back.

I need an escape plan.

Mothers

They're the best thing in the world, particularly the one I chose! ;)

Haha, I always like to tell my parents that I chose them. They just like to shake their heads and say, "Oh that Stephanie of ours."

Seriously, my mom is always there to listen when I'm frustrated. Sometimes, I'm like, "Mom, you don't understand," and then she'll say something that makes it all right. It surprises me--so she does understand. I guess that's just the magical stuff moms are made of.

She wanted to see what I wrote yesterday. After reading, she said the most perfect thing to me. I told her that I didn't think it was a beginning, that something didn't feel right about it. Then she said the perfect thing that made it clear; it was just the thing I needed to hear, to unlock myself from the grips of doubt.

I feel a little freer now. Thanks mom!

Times like these make me wonder if I could be a mom too. If I feel this way, I can only imagine how it must be for her.