I have this habit of waiting to get started until all the rubber duckies are lined up in a single-file row of perfection. But they never are. So I just keep putting things off.
On the other hand, I’ve had experiences where I had no idea where to start – career change from corporate cubicle dweller to writer-person, for instance – and jumped in, blindly going where I’d never been before – and everything turned out alright – even with all the awkward mis-steps, blah blah.
I’m reminded of this because the one thing I always want to be perfect is my writing – and it never is, never will be. If I get an assignment from an editor, boom, I can produce, and produce well. But left to my own to write the imaginary book in my head, there are all sorts of reasons to hem and haw and do other things instead.
Like vacuum the dust bunnies in my house.
The biggest hang-up is the sense of reality that dogs me all the time. It’s freaking hard to create a long-form, cohesive piece of work. Requires incredible commitment and discipline and for what? It’s so hard to get published. But still – you want people to read your work. It’s possible the best I can do if I finish the damn thing is self-publish.
At which point – it might be my time to perish from this sweet, sweet earth, leaving me no time to market and sell my book.
But there, I’ve announced my fear to the world (or all seven readers of this blog) so I’m conscious of it. And now I can say, so flipping what? If it’s something you gotta do, do it.
Don’t stress over what may or may not happen. Just jump in the damn water.