I just reread something I wrote two years ago, almost to the day. A scrap of a fragment on an old drive that now serves as an archive, sitting with a half dozen or so other scraps. I have to admit to my horrifically self-doubting self that if I came across this as someone else’s work, I would deem it quite good. It’s a nice surprise.
If you would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead and rotten, either write something worth reading or do things worth the writing.
I know, I know: updates are sporadic. However, this is the busy season at the ranch, with things to plant and tend, and beehive management to keep the girls in line.
One thing I have done, for this quarter (April through June) is make a goal: get a first draft completed on the first book of the series. I was thinking about this the other day in relation to the beekeeping things that were taking up chunks of my time. I’m perfectly willing to go all out and try to capture a swarm, for instance. Is it necessary that I catch them? No. I have a bunch of other hives that losing one swarm is not a huge deal. Does it reflect poorly on me if I’m not able to catch them, or make them stay if I do catch them? No. Am I self-conscious about having people see me all suited up, working with the bees? Not really. So, my challenge is to apply those things to my writing, instead of thinking everything I write sucks when I know the only person who really thinks that is me – others have read snippets and were positive about them.
That is the conundrum, my small, but faithful, group of readers: how to convince myself that the writing is a challenge just like working the bees is, or working the gardens is, and that even though writing is a very personal thing (to me), that voice/guard needs to be firmly but gently moved out of the way so I can get on with things that need to get out of my head and on the (figurative) paper.