NaNoWriMo starts in less than six hours.
And I’m silently panicking.
The Resistance has set in.
It’s a knot in my gut, an inability to focus and a chill down my spine.
It’s a voice screaming at me constantly. It asks questions that strike too close to the bone.
What if you can’t do it?
What if you write this manuscript and realize you hate it?
What if no one else likes your book?
Why should anyone care about your characters and their stories?
Just who do you think you are?
That last question bothers me the most.
Who do I think I am, to think that I could write books people would want to read? To think that I could become a successful novelist?
You’re being selfish. You’re taking time away from your husband and kids to follow this vanity project.
And this one brings up feelings of guilt and shame. Never mind that my husband has supported me from day one. Never mind that I’m doing this so I can show my children that it’s possible to follow their dreams.
The Resistance is loud and obnoxious. It doesn’t need to make sense. It only needs to be convincing. And it only needs to drown out that still, small voice that keeps whispering ‘You can do it. Just trust. One step at a time.’
I know what’s happening on a intellectual level. But that doesn’t make it any easier.
I’m not going to give up. I will write my first draft in November. And I will make it to 50 000 words. Maybe more.
But I’ll also have to keep fighting The Resistance. It won’t ever go away. If you’ve struggled with depression, you know what I mean.
But fighting The Resistance makes you stronger.
Don’t give up, loves. Never give in. Find that still, small voice and cling to the words it tells you, no matter what.
It won’t be easy. And I don’t think it’s supposed to be.
Until next time.