“Self-Doubt…
… doesn’t do anyone any good when you’re right.”
Or so said Hugh Laurie’s Dr. House, if I recall correctly.
Most of us are plagued with self-doubt at one time or another. I seem to have it a lot. Which doesn’t make sense, given that I’m also right a lot of the time. Or at least, pretty self-righteous. It’s an unfortunately combination, which may explain why I don’t go out much. It’s better for us all.
Or maybe it’s a writer thing. Nora Roberts said “Writing doesn’t make you neurotic; neurotics become writers.” So I guess it was inevitable.
But, writers, plumbers, doctors, ranchers or whatever, we’re all prone to human failings and frailties. It’s a fallen world, after all. Despite our best intentions, we all inflict bone-headed, self-centered, blindly stupid mistakes on those around us, for which we end up scraping for forgiveness.
And sometimes, we have to be big enough to do the same for others.
I’m at that wonderful stage in my book where my characters have slipped off each others’ masks just enough to see the true person beneath. It’s an ugly, painful experience, but wildly, truly, whole-ly human. I love being able to orchestrate this from above, putting true words into the mouths of made-up people, giving them honest actions and reactions in fictitious lives.
I wish it would come together the way I see it in my head. It would be The Best Book Ever.
But who knows? I could have it right already. And self-doubt doesn’t help anyone, when you’re right.
SERENITY NOW!!
The final week of October looms ahead, and with it, Hallowe’en, which used to make me excited and these days just makes me tired.
But this year, it also makes me scared. But not for the reasons little kids get scared.
No, it’s not zombies and ghosts that scare me. Not even having those convenient, bite-sized chocolate bars around the house. It’s my October 31 deadline for the second book in my Three River Ranch series, for Entangled Publishing.
Is it ready to submit? No.
Will it be ready to submit? Yes.
On time? Hell, yes.
I haven’t missed a deadline yet and I don’t intend to start now. But dang, I wish I could work at some kind of reasonable, regular pace.
So I’m putting my nose to the grindstone, shoulder to the wheel, pen to paper, butt in chair, hands on keyboard…
… and now and then, when I comeup for air, I’ll do a little yoga. Because if ever I needed, in the words of Frank Costanza “SERENITY NOW”… it’s NOW!!!
PS: If anyone interrupts me this week, and it doesn’t involve arterial blood…. well, it will.
http://youtu.be/PlZvY_LXJco
20th Anniversary of the Surrey International Writers’ Conference
It’s Sunday. The Sunday after The Conference. I think my brain is bleeding. I know my eyes feel like someone poured sand in them, and my throat is scratchy. Undoubtedly I’m incubating some horrid hotel-air Ebola-type virus that will lay me flat when I can least afford it.
But I don’t care.
It was an amazing weekend, full of up-to-the-minute information, inspiring keynote addresses, hilarious hijinks and of course, Michael Slade‘s Shock Theatre. And Jack Whyte‘s Mud.
But this means nothing to most of you.
Suffice it to say, I worked my patootie off, reconnected with old friends, met some new ones and am totally recharged to write the next book – and the one after that, and the one after that – the very best I can.
I’ll post something more interesting shortly. Because if I learned one thing this weekend – thank you, Sean Cranbury! – it’s KEEP BLOGGING!