I’ve wanted to be an author for as long as I can remember. It started out innocently enough: I loved books. I still love books. So, if I loved books so much, why not write one? The prospect seemed easy enough…but it’s not.
After rejections and dead-ends, I found a publisher who is willing and ready to take me on. Hooray!! I should be doing cartwheels and back hand-springs (if I knew how), but instead I am doing this: wallowing in self-pity.
It’s hard! I am sticking out my bottom lip into the quintessential pout. I want to run and scream and hide. I think I will pluck my eyeballs out and crawl under a rock.
The hardest part is this: revisions and deadlines. I didn’t really complain too much about writing until someone told me I couldn’t do it. Or do it “well.” I have been questioning my own abilities, my own research, and my “voice,” as I put words on paper and ship ’em off to reviewers. Revising work that I once thought was “pretty good,” is getting my tummy all knotted up and making me want to chuck my laptop out the window! I am losing sleep and feeling cranky. I want it done. Now.
So, I guess I am going to roll up my sleeves and get to work. (As if I haven’t been doing that for the past 2+ years I’ve been writing this darn thing)! Oh, and did I mention that I am still mom to two little girls and I still have a house to clean and a husband to hang out with? I still have other interests and obligations beyond my own book writing, too. I still have to shower and eat and sometimes I even want to watch TV or read a book, heaven-for-bid!
But I will do it. “May Day” has a whole new meaning for this writer mama! Write, on.