About two months ago I decided to write a new book. I had this great idea that I wanted to explore, to see if my thoughts would translate into a book. Once I started, it took off. The first three chapters came easily to me. I had a thousand thoughts running through my head. Then, for some reason, after that first flurry of words and thoughts, my mind started to slow down and writing got a little more difficult. It’s like there was a complete lockdown and then the frustration started.

Sure enough, by the time I got to the fourth chapter, I was stuck. I started thinking to myself, now what? Maybe this is not a complete book after all. So, I went back to the beginning and started reading what I had written so far. Still, there were no new thoughts, and the idea of ​​throwing out the entire book was becoming very attractive.

Then one morning after a good night’s sleep, I was filled with new thoughts and began to write. That is the best feeling in a world of writers. I started to think that this might be a decent book after all. I walked through chapter after chapter and when I looked I found 125 pages in a new book. Wow! What feeling. And then….

Yesterday morning, after what I guess was not a good night’s sleep, I looked at my manuscript and considered it rubbish. Yes, something inside of me told me that I would never write a decent book and that I should shut down my computer and go back to bed. It’s not a very good feeling. Despite trying my best to get out of this fear, I think every word on every page looks at me and says, “You suck.” So, at approximately 11:00 am yesterday, I put the 50,000 word book on the shelf and vowed to leave it alone for…well…forever!

Then last night while talking to my mom, she asked me what I’ve been up to since we haven’t spoken in over a week. (Typical mom question) So now I had to tell her about the book and how I put it away. She went on to say that writers commonly start and stop books all the time, but sometimes the book gets the best of us and then it’s hard to walk away from writing. In other words, letting someone other than me read what I’ve written and give their opinion. It made sense to me, so I feel like my mom got the project and I crossed my fingers.

Several hours later, she called again to say she couldn’t leave him. To my surprise, she was really enjoying it. Some of you reading this may accept the theory that the mother is nice to her son here. I agree that my mom would never tell me that my book was horrible and that I suck, but she will surely tell me if she needs a job. She understands that her truth can only help me.

Needless to say, I slept very well last night and I can’t wait to hear more of your comments. What I’ve learned in the last few days is that I’m fine just the way I am. As long as I keep writing from the heart and still being myself, no book of mine stinks. I learned that perseverance and working through the storm is just as important as enjoying the fruits. Life and writing are not easy, but if you never give up and believe in yourself, good things tend to happen. The choice is within.