Well, I didn't last long at the blog thing, did I? Early this year, I found I had my hands in too many pots and had to practice a bit of time management. So, bye-bye blog. I suppose now I'm feeling cocky, thinking I can keep up with a weekly blog, because I'm a hairsbreath away from finishing Dangerous Expectations. It's a good feeling. And also scary.
Ending a book has proven to be the most difficult part of the writing process for me. Not for any psychological reason like I'm afraid to part with my beloved characters. No, I'm simply a chicken. Did I tie up all the loose ends? Will I bring the story to an end in a satisfying way that the reader won't hunt me down and do nasty things to my mangled body? Nope. For me, good 'ole self-doubt creeps in. Several years ago, I let this awful, not-so-little part of my personality take over and convince me that I couldn't do whatever it was I was working on.
Not anymore, buck-o. One of the benefits of growing older, I suppose. Now, self-doubt ticks me off. I'd be lying if I said I've completely conquered the worthless emotion. By the time I realize it's slithered in to my subconscious, it's slowed down my writing process.
That's when I know it's time to put on the battle gear and kick it's ever-loving a-- Well, you get the picture. In reality, I force myself to sit in front of the computer screen, heart pounding, nerves jangling, and I write. Then write some more. And before I know it, I've leapt across the deep crevasse of self-doubt.
Don't let such a puny emotion get the better of you. It's an energy drainer and it has the ability to destroy two of the world's greatest pleasures. Writing, and therefore, reading. But only if we let it.