Okay, I’m just feeling a bit shakey so I need to write. Just bear with me. It’s going to be a bit of a ramble, and it might not make sense, but I need to do this. It’s that time of the month again. Writers panic time. Yes, it’s the old “will I ever get published” business again. I sit and stare at my manuscript, just about held together with its treasury tags, lying there on the desk. It just looks so flat and stupid, like it’s nothing. Now in my heart I know it isn’t nothing, I know it’s so far from nothing. But some horrible part of my head says that right now it is nothing. I mean it is, isn’t it? Right now, sitting on my desk in the treasury tags, it is nothing. It’s just a mad little story that I dreamt up. And then even more horrifically that’s a reflection on me. The book is nothing because I am nothing. Blimey that’s self-involved. But then we all are really.
Oh I don’t know, I know these things can’t be rushed. I could be doing more, and I should be doing more, but I’m doing it the best I can. It’s just that niggling insecurity isn’t it? I imagine everyone feels it. Will you make a difference, will you achieve, will you make your mark and do what you want to do. Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr I don’t know, it’s horrible stuff. I’m certainly feeling a bit shakey at the moment, but I know it will pass. I just have to stay focused, keep faith and keep believing that I can and will acheive all that I want to. My books aren’t nothing. They’re not. They’re definately not.