Are these realistic criticisms? No. My hair is fine-compared to some other members of my family at my age. My body-better than most people half my age. And my teeth-they're pretty white considering the amount of coffee I drink on the weekends.
One of the worst criticisms I have is with my writing. I have always doubted my level of talent, no matter who told me they loved the way I wrote. This doubt only increases when I read a book from my favorite author Dean Koontz. I can't get through a chapter without thinking to myself "Crap. Who am I fooling? I can't write like this. This is a real writer. I'm nothing like this."
But then I think, "Of course you're not like this. This is Dean freakin' Koontz!" He's a master storyteller. He's written hundreds of books for more than thirty years. Most of them, if not all, have hit the best-seller's list.
I need not compare myself to the masterful Koontz. But that self-doubt still stirs the pot.
But on the flip-side of that self-doubt is fear.
There have been many a time when I have asked myself: Have I not reached the level of success I strive for because somewhere deep inside I'm morbidly terrified of it? I think on some level that may be true. And that fear has been raising its ugly head more often than not, as of late.
This new series could be the one. That's what Steve and I keep saying. EVerything about it is perfect. The first installment practically wrote itself. It took just over three months to complete. It came too easily. Things fell into place to readily.
Steve tells me it's a sign. He also told me that he thinks the first installment is better than Twilight. I seriously doubt that, but he stands by his statement (and he looooves Twilight).
And while that may be all well and good . . . do I want it to be better than Twilight? A part of me says no. A part of me is running for the bed so I can crawl beneath the covers or get under it completely, which ever will provide more protection.
The angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other are constantly arguing with each other. The protagonistic angel keeps whispering in my ear how it will be so great to be that successful. Being able to provide us with the lifestyle we've always dreamed of. Never having to worry again.
But then the antagonistic devil reminds me of the interviews. The book readings. The signings. The traveling. The time away from Steve and Buster. The critics!
Be careful what you wish for?
I feel this fear rising as I wait for word to come back from the first group of letters I sent out to agents. One side is excited to hear back because I know they'll be so interested in the story and ask to read the manuscript and then they'll see that I really have something and, and, and . . .
The other side reminds me that it will mean "It has started".
Funny-for years I've only dreamed of success. Now I'm apprehensive.
But things will happen the way they're supposed to happen. God won't throw anything at me He doesn't think I can handle (You won't, will You, God?).
Okay, that's it for today's trip through my jumbled brain. Be nice to each other.