Preparing to Write my Book..and lose my Mind.
I’m to the point now where I’m tired of hearing myself tell people that I want to publish something, anything, before I die.
Put me first in line to admit that I’ve been lazy. I consider it one of my major flaws. You would think, if I were that passionate about wanting something so badly, that I would get off my ass and go do it. Or, rather, sit my ass down and write it. I’ve decided that trying to analyze why I haven’t is just another stalling technique. Enough.
I have the story I want to tell. Hell, I basically told my daughter the entire premise, from start to finish, while driving her somewhere in the car on one of her recent visits. The beginning and the end and a lot of the middle have been acted out by nameless characters in my mind so many times I wish I had a video of my thoughts so I could just transcribe them. It’s almost all there. It’s time to get it down on paper, or the computer, or a series of dinner napkins.
The question is, why am I having so much trouble motivating myself?
When my children were younger, we had an issue with test taking in school. If one of them hit a question they could not answer, they would simply stop. And by that I mean stop trying, stop answering any more questions. They would simply give up. They would not try to reason out an answer, and guessing was out of the question. What we came to realize was that they were absolutely terrified of getting the answer wrong, of failing. Now, as a parent, one might think that we, at home, were pressuring them to get good grades or to be at the top of their class. This could not be farther from the truth. Like, it’s on the other side of the planet farther away from the truth. So we couldn’t figure the source of this behavior, and ended up working very hard to convince them that, even though one prefers to know their subject and to get answers right, it is also alright to at least try, fail and then to better your results next time.
Thinking back to those battles now, I realize that I may be suffering from the very same, sourceless affliction. Oh, I’m sure there’s some deep-seated reason for my apathy. And I imagine I could spend a few more years trying to find out what that is. But wouldn’t it be so much more fulfilling to, instead, write my damned book? What’s the worst that could happen? It could suck and nobody would want to publish it. And then where would I be? Hey! Right where I am right now! So what the heck.
Ok, so much for the pep talk.
Interesting, albeit short article today about how drinking vodka makes you more creative. I might have to check this theory out. 🙂