I get up. I send the kids off to school. I grab a cup of coffee. I go to my office.
I say good morning to Fear.
Fear waits for me by my desk every morning.
Good morning, he says. Are you ready?
I am. I sit down behind my computer and push Fear away. He’ll breathe down my neck if I don’t.
And I type, ferociously and as unbrokenly as I can manage because if I stop, Fear is waiting.
Fear is patient.
Are you sure that’s the right way to put that? He lingers at my shoulder. Then he shrugs. Never mind. Nobody reads your stuff, anyway.
You should’ve started writing novels earlier instead of that short story crap. Ten years earlier and you’d have an agent and been able to sell your stuff instead of messing around with this self-publishing thing. It’s just vanity press by a different name.
You should really get an agent, but agents don’t like what you write, do they?
Fear has a grip on me now, so he is confident enough to walk away a little. He looks back at me and shakes his head. Why did you quit your day job? Oh yeah, to be a mom. But you could get a real job now. Maybe you should.
And now Fear has a little friend. Self-Doubt holds his hand, and is somehow more frightening than Fear himself.
What’s the problem? Fear says. Are you afraid if you stop writing you’ll be just another regular Joe?
Maybe you already are, whispers Self-Doubt. Maybe you always have been.
Note: So far this month, I have defeated both Fear and Self-Doubt. I’m at 48,254 words of the National Novel Writing Month book. Take THAT Fear and Self-Doubt!