It’s two in the morning here, rain pelts my cabin’s tin roof. My pup, Chunkers, is underneath his blanket softly snoring, and I can’t help but think, “that’s what I should be doing.” Ah well, as the old saying goes, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”
Then, I’m sure I’ll complain that all I do is sleep.
Last year, I had a super productive year as a writer. I wrote seven murder mysteries, and two complete stories. This year, I have completed my first novel, written one murder mystery, and completed two informal edits of completed works.
Why do I feel as if I have completely mucked up the works?
There are a couple of contests I hope to participate in this year. Both are in July. I had an opportunity last weekend to submit a piece of writing, but I don’t trust myself to put it out there for people to judge it. July is looming like my own personal Everest.
How do people do it? By that I mean, how does one have faith that their work is going to stand up against the scrutiny of others and not wilt under the fervent heat of their criticism? I don’t know, I just have to man up (so to speak) and suck, I guess.
That’s the only to get better, or so ‘they’ say.
So, here’s to sucking and hoping that they’re right. I’ll let you know how it goes.
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