*Today I am mostly being a scaredy cat.
I haven’t written a sodding thing in ages. Am I kidding myself that I can write something as clever as a sci-fi book? Maybe I should just stick to princess fairy tales? Maybe I should just give up and start writing about rainbow ponies, fluffy bunnies and talking butterflies, all living in a magical world where nothing bad ever happens. At the end they will learn a trite moral lesson and skip away into the sunset.
I haven’t put any work of substance into my story since July (beginning of the school holidays) and now I’m too scared to touch it.
I’m not sure my opening chapter is exciting enough to engage a reader.
I’m wondering if the pace is too slow – more stuff needs to happen, exciting… STUFF!
Perhaps I should start over?
My story has become one of two things:
- A sleeping beast, where the slightest contact could rouse the malevolent creature and illicit a violent response where I would be torn to bloody shreds.
- At the slightest touch my masterpiece will disintegrate, falling away from my fingers in a fine grey dust before finally disappearing in a swirl of wind.
Everyone, EVERYONE (including my 6 year old) is writing a better story than I am.
The sky is thick with clouds.
Darkness falls too soon.
I am Marvin the miserable robot in human form.
I turned my back and allowed self doubt to creep in.
It won’t last for long.
The best course of action is to write my way out.
* A while, actually.