Over the last several days I've been writing vigorously on many different projects, though have yet to be able to finish the one I started to focus on last week. Message to self: MUST FINISH SOMETHING! Still the fact that I've been consistently producing anything is a good sign. Writer's block in never fun and as long as the words keep coming, it somehow all seems worthwhile.
It has made me wonder why I'm so shy about showing my work to others, especially my husband. That fear of criticism or maybe more plainly rejection is probably what is holding me back from finishing anything in a meaningful way. Editing is a long process, I know that. You can't ever expect to write something that others are meant to read without receiving a healthy dose of alteration and amendment. I just don't know if I'm ready to share all this stuff yet or whether maybe it should remain mine.
Books are like babies in a way; every mother sees her child's flaws, but god forbid anyone should point them out. I feel that way about it at least. Right now, when my ideas are being put to page, all I want is to survive the birthing process, but the hardest part seems to be letting go of the product. I can't seem to get it all out of me for fear that it will fly away. Criticism is just that: critical and to allow someone else, especially someone I value to view the worlds into which I retreat is scary and difficult. Maybe strangers is a better way to go. At least it won't so that detrimental to my family life. J.A.
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