Self doubt. More than carpel tunnel, computer crashes, and uncomfortable desk chairs — it’s the bane of the writer’s existence. Sit still and quiet for more than ten seconds, and your subconscious will begin assaulting you with all the reasons why you are an absolute idiot for ever thinking you could make it as a successful author. If the idiot strategy doesn’t work, the inner voice of doom will begin the litany of other insults that strike at the heart of your dream. Here are a few of the most recent battles I’ve had to fight:
- You’re so selfish. You ought to be playing with your children instead of writing on this manuscript.
- You’re delusional. Really, you think this writing is good? Seriously?
- You, an author platform? You break out in a cold sweat every time you send a tweet.
- You think you can make an actual career from writing? Honey, go get a real job.
Yeah, so that was my week. It happens from time to time. I don’t think we ever develop an immunity to the inner critic. My son’s sixth birthday was last week, so there was much party planning and extra fun. Consequently, the word count suffered. My inner critic must have scented blood in the water because the attack was ferocious and brutal. I stopped writing on my novel and instead spent my writing time drafting online marketing articles and researching freelance opportunities while my dream died a little each day.
Then the universe swooped in like an avenging angel in the form of a check from Amazon Digital Services. The check wasn’t huge or anything, but it was substantially more than I’d been expecting. I did a quick mental estimate of how many product descriptions I’d have to write to earn the same amount of money, and suddenly, I was back in the game.
That moment when you realize you will prevail, you will make it, you will follow your bliss …