I spent some of this morning wondering if I actually don’t feel ready to write a book or if I’m afraid to. I really try not to fear most things, so I was hung up considering the second option.
The day I spend at home writing all day is one of my favorite days. Sometimes I open all the doors and let the breeze in. Somedays I turn up the heater and stay in my robe. Somedays I sit in the dark all day and don’t even notice until 3 p.m. It is so fun. I love the opportunity to sort through my thoughts. I love pounding on my keyboard like a piano, turning up and down the music and snapping my fingers like an idiot. I love writing. It’s weird to so deeply love something that frequently makes me produce things I hate.
Back to the fear thing. I actually don’t think I’m ready to write a book because I still feel I need to grow a lot as a writer. If I wrote a book right now, I think I would end up hating it in approximately thirteen months. But maybe I’ll always feel this way.
Maybe the writing a book dilemma is solved with the same advice I was given about having babies: you can wait your whole life to be ready, but you never will be.
What are your thoughts on fear? Do you have dreams of writing a book?