Ajax’s charming, lovely book, This Charming Man, will be coming out sooner or later (hopefully sooner! because I love it!) and in her insightful blog, she talks about the insecurity of writing/waiting/publishing.
I wrote a book and I like it. It’s a book I want to read. Which I guess is why I wrote it? And yet here, on the cusp of publishing, I’m paralyzed with insecurity. I guess the old chestnut is true, being an artist is the intersection of flagrant, narcissistic ego and devastating, debilitating insecurity. The closer my writing comes to the reality of being an actual book, the more I’m waffling between the two. Some days I’m unabashedly proud of what I’ve accomplished and of my simple, sweet little story. Other days I’m certain I’m setting myself up for humiliation and my beta readers just won’t tell me how stinky my book really is.
How it feels in the middle of writing: you’ve taken a vow and you might never get laid again.
Writing a book was equally exhilirating and exhausting. I’m dragging my feet right now on committing to…
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