Even though I’ve had many compliments on my writing (thanks to those of you who know who you are), the Inner Critic (as it is labeled) is louder, more insistent, and knows exactly what buttons to push.
In the long, drawn-out past of my writing career (er … endeavor?) I have thought it was my “fear of failure” which stopped me from ever completing a project. Oh, by completing, I mean finished to the point of real life publication. Now, as I’ve aged and, frankly, as my writing has become less of an escape clause and more of a feature to my life, I realize that it’s not fear of failure which causes this sudden screeching halt to actual production.
I’m not afraid I’ll fail. I’m afraid I’ll never succeed.
Is there a difference? Yes. As many self-help books/websites/gurus/nags will point out, there are hundreds of examples of famous creative people who were rejected time and again for their masterpieces. They didn’t fail, the advice goes, because they never gave up.
Well, as any regular reader of this blog knows, (all two of you!), I don’t give up on my writing. I can’t. It’s an addiction. If it weren’t, I would have stopped years ago and never looked back.
So, I can’t fail in that sense of the word, as in surrendering to my lack of talent.
My writing-seizure right now is more based on the “I’ll never be good enough” doubts: I can spend another 40 years on my writing and still won’t be able to reach that plateau of …. what? Greatness? No. Impact. That’s the success I want. My writing should have impact on whoever reads it.
So what now? Work through it all, I suppose. I still have tons of ideas. I’m still determined to finish E2. I know what to do. And eventually, I’ll sit down and do it.
Meanwhile, to tease my addiction, I write this blog. Sort of like taking a hit of methadone when I crave the smack.