I have been writing a novel for some years now and until my son was born it was nearly all I could think of. Since then I have changed the plot three times and have researched until my eyes crossed and my hand cramped from note taking (some of us are a smidge stuck in their ways). All very well, you might think, but I have not actually added to the story since before Christmas!. I have the time as my son takes a 3 hour nap every day. The plot and world are clear in my mind. I have my notes and the internet at my fingertips. So, why can I not write?
Something has been on my mind and I think this morning I realised what is truly bothering me. This is the truly horrifying thought that once I have completed this task I will then have to sell my work and everything I have put into it by submitting it to agents and publishers (EEEEK). This is usually done face to face but I have had possibly 5 job interviews in my whole life. I worked in my first job for six years after being placed there by a temp agency straight after leaving school. I interviewed for the promotion but that was my my first ever job interview. I was 25 at that point. I really hate putting myself on display like that and having to ‘sell’ myself. I hate being the subject of scrutiny. It feels like stage fright with the added humiliation of trying to justify my own existence while I’m at it. When I go to agents I will have to do the same and I am terrified. The thought makes me feel physically sick. (I am wondering if this is a normal response to an event that is not even on the horizon yet?)
On here I can publish whatever I want but the harsh reality of the fact is that very few people read this blog and most of them that do are my friends. Of course they will tell me if they like my work! If they don’t many will just say nothing at all. I am fine with that but I am not writing exclusively for my friends; I want the book in print and I want my name on the cover but therein lies the paradox. I’m not assuming it will be a best-seller but I will be putting myself in the spotlight and I think this is why I am putting off going back into it. The other reason is that I really don’t think I am that good a writer in the same way that I am not very good at engaging with other people (outside my regular circle). I am not a people person. Either they rub me up the wrong way or I do it to them but the fact remains I am going to have to get a grip on my knickers and demonstrate some true British grit (my inner spoiled brat is now screaming that I don’t want to and I can’t make me). I can panic and blubber all I like but that has never achieved anything and whether I like it or not this passion of mine left unfinished is going to bug me until I do finish it. While I’m at home looking after the boy I don’t have anybody but myself to answer to and I love it. (Do you reckon my husband will notice baby after baby in my warped attempt to avoid the dreaded job interview scenario? Just a thought).