Fear itself
I've been noticing lately how self-sabotaging I am in my life; how I make excuses, and procrastinate, pummel my self-esteem by comparing myself unfavorably to others. And it's only recently that I've really understood that this is all fear behavior. That the biggest obstacle in my path is - has always been - my own fear, wearing whatever the camouflage of the week is.
It's a bit humbling, and also kind of annoying. I can't help but wonder where I would be in my life right now if I hadn't been so hide-bound by my own damned fear.
Why am I talking about fear now? I don't know, exactly, other than that it occurred to me. I've been leading a writing group for...4 years now? Encouraging people to be brave, to share their work, not to keep their light under a bushel.
All the while, burning my own candle unobtrusively under my cast-iron bushel basket.
Effing hypocrite.
A few members of my writing group are on fire lately - passionate and creative, and they are polishing pieces and researching markets and querying agents, and it's awesome, and inspiring.
And yet, when I'm asked what I've been doing, and have I put any of my work out there, I'm all excuses. Mostly along the theme of "Well I'm writing a novel, and it's not done yet, so no. I haven't put anything out there."
And it seems so safe here in my noveling cave, with the promise of potentially endless revisions stretched before me, to prohibit me from having to actually allow other humans to read what I write and face potential rejection.
But sometimes what seems safe ends up being confining.
I am on my third pass of my revisions, and am hoping to be near the end, and close to the point where I can actually impose upon the good will of ask a few fellow writers to read and critique for me.
*breathes into a paper bag*
I'm pretty sure the world will not grind to a halt, even if they all say things like "This sucks."
And I'm hoping that by knocking down this hurdle, it will be that much easier to clear the others.
It's a bit humbling, and also kind of annoying. I can't help but wonder where I would be in my life right now if I hadn't been so hide-bound by my own damned fear.
Why am I talking about fear now? I don't know, exactly, other than that it occurred to me. I've been leading a writing group for...4 years now? Encouraging people to be brave, to share their work, not to keep their light under a bushel.
All the while, burning my own candle unobtrusively under my cast-iron bushel basket.
Effing hypocrite.
A few members of my writing group are on fire lately - passionate and creative, and they are polishing pieces and researching markets and querying agents, and it's awesome, and inspiring.
And yet, when I'm asked what I've been doing, and have I put any of my work out there, I'm all excuses. Mostly along the theme of "Well I'm writing a novel, and it's not done yet, so no. I haven't put anything out there."
And it seems so safe here in my noveling cave, with the promise of potentially endless revisions stretched before me, to prohibit me from having to actually allow other humans to read what I write and face potential rejection.
But sometimes what seems safe ends up being confining.
I am on my third pass of my revisions, and am hoping to be near the end, and close to the point where I can actually impose upon the good will of ask a few fellow writers to read and critique for me.
*breathes into a paper bag*
I'm pretty sure the world will not grind to a halt, even if they all say things like "This sucks."
And I'm hoping that by knocking down this hurdle, it will be that much easier to clear the others.