But what the hell?
One unpleasant thing I have realized about myself is that I circle the thing I love, but I will not dive in. I get very, very close. But then I don't go all the way.
And I don't mean just for a minute, or an hour, or a week, or a month. I mean for years, and maybe even decades.
So one thing I have suffered from for years is a fear of diving into the writing I love the most. Not surprising. A rejection of them is a rejection of my real loves, my passion, myself. It is just a lot more scary.
I became a journalist to make myself write. And it did. And I loved it. But I did it for so long I almost forget along the way what it was that I really, really wanted to write.
That is my mama book. And I am trying. I have been rejected by two agents (not the worst record ever) and I am stalled out. I am thinking. But I can tell I am avoiding it. I tell myself I am reframing. Musing. Pondering. Figuring It Out. But really, I am just not doing anything.
So this Sunday, rather than bringing my novel memoir to my writing group, I will bring the first chapter of my book and read it aloud to my fellow writers. I am scared. I am nervous. I will be opening myself up to so much. But I am daring myself to jump in. To circle no longer. To do the thing it is I want to do.
Hold me to it!
2 years ago