Writing

Yesterday, I posted something about writers' companions.  Today, I had a talk with someone I could refer to as my mentor.  He told me that now that I have a lot of time on my hands, I need to write my novel.

Of course, I laughed nervously.  I do love to write--I just don't like to sit down to write.  I do what most writers must do; I invent things in my mind, places, plot points, characters, whimsical happenstances.  But when it comes time to commit or delve deeper than psychological sock puppets, I freeze.  My stomach ties up in knots, and I avoid impulses to just sit down, stop watching stupid Youtube videos, and get down to some serious creative work.  I have a few guesses why this might be, but something tells me it's most likely because I'm afraid that my writing will be horrible.

Rebekah asked an important question in her last post.  What would you do if you weren't afraid?

If I wasn't so afraid, I'd get serious about my writing.  For most of my life, I've written different things, some things I would consider pretty good, others that I wish I could destroy (but nostalgia or my mother prevents me from doing so).  I guess I've never been convinced that I was actually good at writing.  My parents encouraged me, my classmates and friends have been supportive.  But where they being protective?  Nice?  Fulfilling their roles as loved-ones?

I'm taking my wonderful co-pilots challenge.  I pledge that by this time two weeks from now (give or take a day) I will have a short story in some form.  It may not be perfect or in its final stages, but I will have something to show.  I may post excerpts or have it be a serial every Saturday, I'm not sure.

Regardless, I won't become a better writer by being afraid that I'm not.  If I don't write now, I won't ever.

M&y

In which courage is mentioned

It's already late, and I've just got home, so this'll be a short one. I've been thinking on something for a few days now. On Saturday morning, I woke up an hour before my alarm, and settled myself in for a little luxuriating. (This is one of my favorite things in life: being awake, but not up, and knowing you have plenty of time to snuggle, stretch, and laze of a morning.)

Anyway, so I had this time on Saturday morning, and I decided to finish a book my friend had recommended to me. The book posed this question on one of its pages:

What would you do if you weren't afraid?

Well?

rkb