Where was I? Oh yeah, IWSG! This Wednesday is the one time a month when I'm actually invited to share my insecurities (the rest of the time I just do it without any provocation.)
Stop on over and check it out here!
Now, on to my most recent insecurity. Advance warning: this one's depressing.
Over the last month or so, my family has been struggling with health issues. Now, I count my blessings because my daughter, who has billiary atresia, is the picture of health, and my husband and myself are also perfectly healthy. But a couple of my close family members have been suffering. And one of them is really quite young. I feel the weight of this all press down on me, and it only adds to the anxious, impatient feeling that I sometimes get regarding my writing.
Part of me is afraid that I've found my dream too late. What if I never get an agent/get published? Sure, I'm only thirty years old, but that means nothing. I feel time ticking by and it bothers me. I feel like writing is what I was meant for. And every day I spend trapped in my current career is another day wasted. What if I'm one of those people who drops dead from some random issue at age 31???!!
I know all kinds of reasons that I shouldn't worry about this- but at present moment, I'm just not buying them. I know:
1) Anything could happen at any moment. A twenty year old writer is in much danger of this as a sixty year old. (ie: chill...)
2) It will happen when it happens and nothing I do is going to really speed up the process. Every moment that passes is as moment to get better, to grow, develop, yadda, yadda... (ie: chill...)
3) It's actually kind of a good thing that I let this writing thing be overshadowed by life for a while. I've had so many life experiences (joyful and painful) that I believe make me a better writer as I can "write what I know" (ie: chiiillllll....)
4) Many writers weren't published until later in life, and have been very successful. Although, Ms. Gabaldon, its your fault! I remember you saying in an interview that turning 30 was the impetus for you to finally write that novel- because some classic author or other died at 36. But we all knowI'm no Diana Gabaldon. Insert insane cackle here. (ie: we've missed the chill express. the boat has left the dock. we've lost her.)
Do any of you worry about this? Or have I just gifted you with one more insecurity? (They are catching you know...)