I didn’t get much writing done this week. Despite the hopeful tone of my previous post, it was not a good week by any means, and in fact I was as depressed on Tuesday and Wednesday as much as I ever have been. Not a good place to be. Fortunately, as it always does, my mood gradually regressed toward its reasonably happy mean. Still didn’t help much with the writing, though.
But that trend breaks today. My deadline for the first draft of my NIWA story is Sunday, and I’m less than a quarter done with it by this point. No way I’m going to be the only guy that shows up without a story to pass, and if that means writing 4,000 words a day for two days, then that’s what it’s going to be. I’m a professional. Well, a semi-professional, anyway.
Given my unstable living situation, I’ve started to look seriously into freelance writing opportunities. I think that it’d be a great way to make a living, if not a fantastically lucrative one, and if I’m honest with myself, I think I have a chance to be successful. A chance, at least.
The problem is that I’m so rarely honest with myself. I feel a little awkward putting this out on the internet for everyone to read, but whenever I think about what I’m writing actually being read, or being paid for, I’m stricken with such profound paroxysms of self-doubt that I can barely proceed. My inner editor starts screaming at me, loud as can be, and I can’t put him away because I need him. I need what I write to be good. It’s not rational, but I crave that external validation.
I’m certainly not alone in this, so the pity party ends here. Sometimes it helps to get that out in the open, though, so thank you for reading (and, rational or not, validation is always nice).
And, self-doubt or not, there’s no doubt in my mind that this short story is going to get done, and that Fugitives from Earth is going to get done. That novel has been hard, much harder than I thought, but I feel like the book is starting to gel in my mind, like the characters are finally easing into the places they belong, rather than the places I tried to wedge them. I’ve still got a bunch of writing left to do, but it’s gratifying to see that end in sight, even if it’s not necessarily, you know, close.