Why I’m Not Writing My Novel (ie: Why I Suck), Day 74, The “Me Project”
The reason I wanted to write a solid book instead of continuing to write essays and stories to be (when lucky/good) published online, is I wanted something permanent that keeps, that can be referenced and re-read and touched, and won't just get lost in the void.
But it’s haaaaaaaaaaaard. It’s hard. It’s so hard. And I’m getting intimidated by it. I have a fairly solid idea, and a good start (like 60k words) but the idea of putting it all together to make sense and flow and be readable and enjoyable and thoughtful and meaningful, and THEN trying to beg someone to publish and buy and read it…it’s terrifying.
I really wanted to have a book at least moving toward publication by the time I was 40. That’s 9 more months. Is it possible? Can I force myself to put in the time and just finish the damn thing and get it out to be rejected by multiple editors and agents, and then know, with certainty, that I’m terrible and my dreams are dumb?
So, see, at least I’m going into it with positivity and an open-mind.