So I have it. The phrase every writer is afraid to utter. The Voldemort of the creative world. Yes, I have the Writer’s Block.
Not all the time, and certainly not as I write this. But enough to cause a panic. Because my writer’s block is selective. And right now it’s only affecting the very last few parts of my novel. You know, the novel that I’m mere days away from querying. The novel that is so close to birth I’m 9 cm dilated and already pushing.
I’ve known all along I would need to finalize these scenes. Had them outlined for months, wrote the book as if they were already there.
Yet, here I am, staring at their messy pages, wondering just how important they really are. Trying to convince myself the story can go on without them. It can’t.
I know what I need to do.
Just buckle down and write.
But it’s hard. And I’m tired. Tired of working day in and day out on a dream. Tired of telling those voices in my head to shut up, or at the very least, bring it down to a whisper.
“This is a waste of time” they say.
“You can’t write.”
“No one will ever read this.”
“You’re not good enough. You’ll never finish. You don’t have what it takes.”
Most of my Writer’s Block isn’t even coming from those voices. I learned long ago that the voices of self-doubt would forever be a part of the gig; the background music to my muse. No, my Writer’s Block is coming from the fact that I’m Almost Done. And being “Almost Done” scares the crap out of me.
What will I do then?
What if, after everything, no one likes it?
What if I don’t get an agent?
Do I self-publish? Do I Wattpad?
Do I simply, move on?
Why did I write this story in the first place? Was it for the sole purpose of publishing? No. No it wasn’t. But that’s another post.
For now, my Writer’s Block seems to be protecting me; shielding me and my book from the big bad world of criticism. Because I know, like most writers, that once I give birth to the thing it will be officially out there, where the world will judge it, or worse, read it.
I know all of this is silly.
I know I will finish these scenes.
I know I will begin querying.
I know I will move on to other projects and this stage will soon become a distant memory. But right now it’s weighing me down.
I’ve been running this marathon for so long, and I paced myself, took my time, stored my energy just enough to get to the end. And now I can see it. The finish line.
But I’m running out of steam.
Worried that right now, I don’t have what it takes to get there.