The Worst Part of Writing
I love writing. I do. I’ll proudly shout that from any mountain top. The process has ups and downs . . . the first draft is pure creative freedom, following drafts can be agonizing, but it’s an agony you learn to enjoy and look forward to. I know, weird, like, mental health weird.
For me writing is many things. It’s a ministry, an outlet, therapy, a source of extra income, and just plain fun. And I do it for many reasons, first and foremost because I feel compelled to, driven, called, you get my point.
But there’s one aspect of writing I hate. Absolutely abhor.
Waiting for the verdict.
Here’s how it works. I work for four to six months on this manuscript, pouring my time, my energy, my very soul into every word, go over and over it. And then the time comes to send it in to my editor.
And wait. I tell myself the story is good, captivating, no, it’s terrible, boring, no one will like it, no, they’ll love it, I have nothing to worry about. I do this over and over, waiting for the verdict, preparing for the worst, hoping for the best. Back and forth, forth and back. My mood swings wildly, I go over the story in my head wondering what will be liked, what will be hated. In short, I drive myself mad . . . which would make a great storyline.
Now, please, don’t interpret this as anything more than what it is: my being honest about my feelings. I have the greatest editors in the world and respect their opinions more than they know. This is a reflection on me and my ridiculous writer’s insecurity, not them.
Oh, I know what I should do, leave the whole matter in God’s hands. Don’t worry, be happy and all that. It’s a struggle, trust me. But that’s the point, isn’t it? I need to trust Him.