For the last few years, I have slowly been entering the so-called writing life. I’ve done pretty well for the amount of time I’m able to devote to it. I’ve attended some great workshops, some really good cons, made loads of new friends, joined a writing group or two and even had my first short story published in a professional magazine. Thanks, Lightspeed. I feel like I’m the kid sitting at the adult table now.
But like the kid at the adult table, I want to be there at the same time that I question whether I belong there or not. I suppose that tells you what kind of kid I was, your childhood mileage may have varied.
I still have other goals that I feel will put me at the adult table for real and hopefully, for keeps. I want to earn another two pro short story credits and become a SFWA member. I want to finish the first draft of my novel, get an agent, sell a novel. I want to see my book in the store, with my name on the cover and everything.
But first, I want to feel confident enough in what I have to say that I don’t erase every blog post or comment with an internal “God, I’ve already read a dozen people who have already said that exact thing.” I struggle with feeling like everything I think or feel or want to write is derivative or just another “Yea, me too!” which drives me crazy.
I talked about it with my wife, and of course, as always, she gets to the heart of the matter. “Do you think that every time you read a blog post about something you’ve read about before? Do you stop reading, thinking that person is just jumping on the bandwagon?”
Well, no. Not usually. But sometimes. I have to take some time to unpack my thoughts about this, but I’m going to try to be better about not censoring myself. Letting my thoughts get out there. If nothing else, it will be writing practice, I suppose.
Currently Reading: Queen Victoria’s Book of Spells, edited by Ellen Datlow.
Looking Forward to: Paradise Lost 3, upcoming in San Antonio.