The last few days have been spent using the computer screen's sexy glare to burn holes through my retinas but I'm not complaining. Jealous? Yeah didn't think so. My time's been occupied by the writing. Revising the old, starting a new, typing until my carpal tunnel locks my hand into involuntary submission. With all this writing and nothing to show for it, my attitude's gone from "I know I can do it," to "I'll never make it."
How do you shake the voice in your head telling you you're not good enough when your heart tells you to never give up? And how do I tell my daughter to always believe in her dreams if I, myself, can't achieve any of them?
So many questions, so little time. I know I've got a problem when Lilliana tells me to change my attitude, which she did earlier today. But she also said she was afraid of the trashcan so I'm not sure if she's truly the best measure for the way things are perceived. Writing is supposed to bring me joy. If there's no joy, I should stop doing it, right? Wrong. I have a goal, and I have to meet that goal. Agent, publisher, book on shelf, book in hands. Actually maybe it should go something like this: Attitude adjustment, more revision, better query, synopsis tune-up, a little confidence. Then maybe the rest will fall into place.
(She keep chanting)