Cold Feet

cold feet

My feet are freezing.

I spent last week tearing out the final bit of the carpet in our house, which happens to be in the room I do most of my writing. Now, sitting here at the keyboard, the concrete slab below my feet is chilling. Through my socks, through my slippers, that cold seeps in.

Sometimes it seems I spend more time rearranging and organizing my work space than I do in actually writing what I should be writing. Like if I can get everything absolutely perfect the words will magically appear on the screen without me having to open a vein to get them out. It’s a procrastination tool I use often to avoid writing. Because if I don’t write, I can’t fail at writing.

But what is failing at writing? In truth, the only way to guarantee failing at writing is to not write. More specifically, I think I’m afraid of spending all that time and effort to produce a book that nobody wants to buy. Of course, nobody will buy a book that is never written. I recognize this paradox, yet I’m still guilty of ignoring the story in my head and shuffling off to go build a new ice castle in Minecraft.

Self publishing technology has made it increasingly easy for authors to get their work out to those who want to read it. Anybody can write anything and put it up for sale. As a result, there are some real stinkers out there from writers who’ve never heard the words ‘professional editor.’ But you know what? They’re out there, which is more than I can say for me right now.

So I’ve made a new commitment to see this story through to the end, and beyond. I may not win the Nobel Prize for literature. Hell, I may not even sell 100 copies. But I will finish it, I will make it the best it can be, and I will publish it.

Cold feet be damned.

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2 thoughts on “Cold Feet

  1. >But what is failing at writing? In truth, the only way to guarantee failing at writing is to not write. More specifically, I think I’m afraid of spending all that time and effort to produce a book that nobody wants to buy. Of course, nobody will buy a book that is never written. I recognize this paradox, yet I’m still guilty of ignoring the story in my head and shuffling off to go build a new ice castle in Minecraft.

    Get out of my head. (Except in my case, it’s a new slime block palace. 😉 )
    I think I manage to ignore the paradox and Just Write about 75% of the time. I’m working my way up to 75.1%.

    Like

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