Y’all! Writing is scary. And I don’t mean that in a flip, off-hand sort of way. I mean it in a holy-shit-knee-knocking-sick-to-my-stomach-first-drop-on-the-rollercoaster sort of way.
Think about it. Your thoughts, your feelings, your ideas, your words–all spilled out and displayed for the world to see. And not just see. JUDGE. And sometimes harshly.
Why do we subject ourselves to this? Am I just an extreme narcissist, thinking that my words are so precious that everyone has to read them? Am I just crazy, channeling the voices in my head? I really don’t have a definitive answer.
I spent the past couple of weeks warring with myself over whether I should enter a writing contest. Is my story polished enough? What if it’s not good? What if I get rejected?
Gah! All those questions and fears and doubts! I was sooooo scared. All of a sudden (and I know it’s been almost three years since I started taking writing seriously but it seems like time’s flying by) this feels less like a pipe dream. It feels like a real thing. It feels like something’s coming.
Putting yourself out there in any situation is terrifying, I know. But writing’s such a subjective game. One person may think you’re the cat’s pajamas, another may think you’re the kitty’s litter box.
And the really scary part? THERE’S NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT. *shudder*
For a recovering control freak like me, that sucks balls. Big, fat, hairy ones.
But this is the writerly life I’ve chosen and I’m glad for every time I have be bold and step out on faith. It makes me a better writer. It makes me a better person.
So I entered that contest, knowing full well that I might be upset by the outcome, but I’ll never be disappointed by the effort.