Thank you so much for posting and commenting…I needed to read this right now. A Lot.

I used to have a gorgeous iguana, for real — her name was Elvira. She made a good familiar and Muse…and now I understand why!

thanks again,
Michele

Good. Now you are a writer again, instead of a panicked quivering jellyfish. What you are doing now is very very hard too, but in a whole different way. It’s always painful to realize you’ve gone the wrong way and have to throw out a lot of good work with the bad.

But now it’s straightforward writer’s work. It’s just the job, and it actually feels good in a hard way. Like exercise.

Trust your instincts. They never fail you. Honestly.

But save your old stuff in a file too.

Farewell, good luck!

LK

(I feel like an old warhorse shambling off over the horizon.)

Thank you.

It took me a few days to process Laura’s comment, but I think I’m better, and I know it helped.

The thing is, there’s a cancer in the story somewhere, and I just couldn’t find it. I’d look at it, and it would read okay, but there was something wrong with it, and my intuition wouldn’t let it go.

So after Laura’s kick in the seat and the rest of your encouragement, I’ve decided to rip the guts out of the thing. It’ll set me back a lot of time, but I think that’s where the cancer is, and rather than try to remove it one lump at a time, I’m just gonna cut it all out.

I’m on a beach, just me and the horizon and the sea and the harsh landscape. Only I’m not quite alone, because I’ve got you guys at my back.

Really, thank you.

Tracy, just write. It actually doesn’t matter what you write, so don’t agonize over it. Whatever you manage to put down on the page can be fixed later if you decide you don’t like it. But if you agonize over every word and let the fear insinuate itself so deeply, then there’s nothing to fix. There’s only the looming horror of the deadline.

I know how you feel. I’ve completed four projects in 12 months, and if I actually allowed myself to do anything other than plow ahead, the fear would be overwhelming. Because for every person who loves the story that you poured your heart and soul into, there is another who is quite vocal about the fact that they hated it. Why is it that so many authors are haunted by the negatives?

Just write, my darling. Write and don’t think about the deadline or the fear. One word, one sentence, one paragraph, one page…each “one” brings you one closer to the end, one closer to a creation that is yours.

As to the bathing suit…hey…I hear you. Although I’m the same size I was in high school, age and gravity have led to some body part rearrangement that makes me cringe, LOL!

Eve

Good luck, Tracy

Write the demon(s) right out of your head and into the book.

All artists paint their own portrait, really.

Who of us has not wrestled with the same problems?

Just a thought, kid. (gentle fist to your chin)

Tracy, I have some of the same problems. I’ve gotten over the bathing suit thing, though–I swim for exercise twice a week and so had to let go of the whole body fear. I figure as long as I don’t resemble a walrus TOO closely, I’m good…no whiskers yet, I’m happy to say. And I’m older than you, so some things just aren’t quite so important…or, more accurately, so possible.

But the fear of writing thing–yes. The agonizing over ever page, every WORD–yes. Some of that is my process. Some is hearing all those reader and reviewer voices. I’ve given up reading reviews and going to many internet sites–that’s helped. But I’ll definitely be stroking my iquana…why does that sound vaguely obscene all of a sudden? And picturing the grains of sand, the deserted beach.

And do go eat something. I’d hate for you to pass out over the keyboard.

Quit reading what readers think/want/critique/eat/sleep/drink and have sex with. Leave ‘em alone. Get awaaaay from them. You are only paralyzed with fear and worry because you care what they think.

Consider that. What are you afraid of?

You are afraid of what readers will think. That’s it. Period. Not only “readers,” but every single reader out there.

You aren’t afraid of anything but that. And it’s like being afraid of death. It’s a hopeless, endless fear that can never be reasoned away.

Your rational mind says you can control what they think by how well you write. But they will love your work or diss it all over the internet no matter what you write. You are only safe if you don’t write.

Your reptilian brain has figured it out, even if you only glimpse it.

So you are not writing, or having trouble writing, because you want to be safe from readers. You want to fix it so that they can’t not like it, but that’s not possible, so you argue with every word you put down. Not writing means being safe. Your rational brain keeps fighting with your reptilian brain and you are miserable.

So yeah, you have to gently hold your mental iquana, and stroke its scaly, spiky, hardened spine and love it even though it’s squirming and hissing and trying to bite you, and say, “Reptilian brain, I really don’t care about readers. You don’t have be afraid because we don’t care. They don’t exist for us. They are grains of sand on the beach we walk on; they blow past and wash away. They are nothing to us. It’s just you and me here on this empty island, with the horizon and the sea and the harsh black landscape. And together, you and I, we are going to make up a story to entertain ourselves. We’re going to people this vast beach with characters that fascinate us, and listen to what they say, and write it down, and see what happens. It’s fun; it’s the most delightful and deeply rewarding thing on earth, and there is nothing scary about it. It’s you and me and the story and the empty beach. All that sand is just nothing but sand. Grains of sand have no opinions. They are merely grains of sand, the earth we stand on.”

Now get off the internet and go write. ;P

LK

P.S. And you are starving yourself out of fear of what people will think, too. So I’d say feed that poor iguana that’s hissing to you that it’s afraid of dying. Because food is the first thing the reptilian brain wants, so you might as well take care of that and move on. How much do you want to impress whoever is going to see in you in a bathing suit in 4 weeks anyway? How important is that? You might have to consider realistic priorities here. There might be a choice between dieting and writing on a deadline. You don’t have to gorge on chocolate, but you have to feed yourself enough to make the iguana feel secure that it will live another day.

P.P.S. I do speak from experience. Takes one to know one, as they say.