Look at that dog.
The brilliance of the sun highlighting its beautiful blond fur, legs stretched out in the height of excitement, running to return that ball in its mouth.
I am not that dog.
There was a time I thought I had to be. I didn't realize that was my mindset at the time. Hindsight being 20/20 and all that.
It wasn't until I stepped back, and I mean stepped back far enough there was a question in my own mind as to whether or not I would write again, did I see that I had given myself over to things I'd claimed I didn't want:
- Comparing myself to other writers
- Belittling my own success because it wasn't the same as others
- Wondering what I'd done wrong
- Wondering why I couldn't seem to do anything right to garner a growing readership despite so many people telling me they loved my stories
- Wondering why I couldn't seem to pump out a new novella every single month or a new novel every 3 months to feed the reading frenzy
I realize whole-heartedly that being sucessful in this writing gig requires more than some storytelling, although it's the storytelling I wish I could just focus on. It's just that, well, in the midst of trying to turn this hobby into a business and this business into my full-time thing, I allowed it to become yet another rat race, or dog race, and nearly tossed the storytelling aside.
I give mad props to the authors who can push out that new novella every month or that new novel every three months. That takes a lot of work. The success you have as a result of that is commendable.
Where are you at in this journey - not always a race - that is your writing life?
