I’ve asked myself that question a lot as of late. Can I really write a novel? Will I ever do what I want with my art? Will I ever have a career that is financially responsible as well as personally fulfilling? Can I juggle being ambitious with being a loving friend and partner? Am I doomed to always end up depressed and disappointed?
I got an important snipit of advice from an author I met at New Hope Pride this year. He told me to love writing.
At first that seemed cliche. Of course I love writing. Why else would I invest any time and effort into something so daunting. But weeks later, I began to see the wisdom in his words.
I had become so overwhelmed with everything but writing that I wasn’t enjoying it. Will it be any good? Will I ever make a career out of this? Will I ever be able to quit my job? Does this story have a deeper meaning? Does it say everything I want it to say about life? It’s no wonder I haven’t been able to keep up the momentum I need. I’m psyching myself out before I even begin.
Telling stories has always been a passion of mine. I don’t know exactly why. It didn’t matter whether it was a sweeping existential epic or a charming everyday comedy. I simply loved going on the adventure. And I think that is the spirit I need to hold on to.
So this is me, starting from scratch… again. But I will not allow myself to be discouraged. I can do this. More importantly, I’m going to enjoy doing this.