About a year ago, I started writing my book.
Although my word count is getting pretty high, I recently had to admit to myself that the book is lacking in organization and that might be what’s caused the writer’s block as of late. Sure, I made a general outline last year before I started writing, but I’ve always preferred to write by getting all of my thoughts out first and then organizing them later-backwards as it may be. But the past few days I’ve gone back to the drawing board: mind mapping, organizing my book’s events on (actual) paper and figuring out if my book should be in chronological order versus series of flashbacks.
Oh, and all the while trying to silence that pesky voice in my head that says I’m not a real writer, that my story isn’t worth telling, that this whole book project is nothing but a big, fat waste of time.
Recently, my sister started training for a marathon. Last week she posted a picture on Instagram of one of her training runs, with the following caption:
…I think people are afraid of effort because it’s vulnerable and opens the door up for failure. So here I am: training for a marathon, terrified and tired and proud of myself for all that I’ve failed and succeeded at.
I wanted to scream, “THIS IS ME! THIS IS HOW I FEEL ABOUT MY BOOK!” when I read her caption. Instead, I’ve been pondering what my caption of the below picture would be, the picture I took recently while working on the book organizational process at my favorite coffee shop.
This is my caption:
“So here I am: writing a memoir, terrified and tired but choosing to write anyway, because writing is something that I love and something that helps me make sense of my life, and I will not let it become about perfectionism or performance or worry about whether the book is ever published.”