The beginning of a race. The gun is fired and suddenly your legs and arms weigh a hundred pounds a piece. Your lung capacity has been cut in half. You don't want to run a race anymore. You start wondering why you signed up for such a silly thing anyway. You had expected to sprint for the first portion of the race, but right now it's all you can do to keep up with the scragglers at the back of the pack.
In two hours I have written five anguishing and mediocre pages, the bare minimum for me to keep up with a pace that will help me reach my goal of a 150 pages by the end of the month. I'm experiencing huge quantities of self-doubt. I want to quit already. What was I thinking? I don't really want to be a writer. I can't do it. I can't. It's too hard. I think I'll pick a new dream.
2 comments:
Rach, keep it up, you'll do great. This dream probably won't go away. If you decide to quit this year, you'll probably just set the goal next year. (remember last year?). In graphic design, your best ideas always come after feeling like a piece of crap designer. Maybe the same thing happens for writers.
We're still cheering for you! :)
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