So what’s with that? Why am I wasting my time participating in hours upon hours of an activity that will bring me neither fame nor fortune? In other words, what’s in it for me?
It’s not like I don’t have plenty to do.
I’ve got two mystery novels completely written and in a very nearly “ready for publication” state. You’d think I’d be awakening every morning eager to attack the final, final edit to make it happen post haste.
But no… I seem to be hopelessly stuck in the quicksand of inertia. And for no good reason. In fact, I can’t think of a viable reason at all, good or otherwise, and believe me, I’ve tried. Could it be fear of success? Or is fear of failure closer to the mark?
The important word in common in those two previous sentences is, of course, fear. I’m relatively certain the bottom line here is that it’s some kind of perverted fear holding me back, and I’ll be damned if I’ve been able to figure out how to put the games away and get back to doing what I really do love—writing.
The past months I’ve aptly dodged opening the files and immersing myself in my work. I guess it’s because there is no “deadline,” no “immediacy” or “accountability” pushing me to finish the projects.
All that stops today. I’m telling you I’m finally ready to do it, and that means I’m willing to be accountable to my readership (both of you).
Right here and now I’m committing to working on my mystery series at least three hours a day (on the days that I wake up at home) until I can hold the finished book in my hands and caress it like the newborn babe it will be.
Let the birthing process begin!