It occurred to me yesterday that I might not be handling this rejection business as well as I thought. I haven't bothered sending a query letter in sixteen days. I haven't followed any agents on twitter in two weeks. And, besides my postings, I haven't written a word in almost a month.
Houston, we have a problem.
Really? I know I'm crumbling when I use a cliché to express myself.
Why have I decided to pull down my pants and show my ass? Why have I taken such a passive approach to my future? Why can't I manage to crawl out of the dump of doubt? Because I recently thought, for the first time, 'What if I've written a shitty book!?'
Why this revelation has never presented itself before is a mystery. I shelved my ego years ago but now I wonder if it has been with me the entire time, hiding me from the harsh reality that maybe I'm not that great of a writer.
It doesn't matter how many people tell me it isn't true. It doesn't matter how many people tell me that they enjoy my writing. Nothing can overcome self doubt except self confidence.
I don't know where my confidence has gone, but if it doesn't come back soon I may have to call myself something other than "writer". And when I think of my doubt in those terms, it makes me want to prove myself wrong.
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