I spent a lot of my apprentice and journeyman time doing the same thing, honestly. And then I realized how much better off I would be if I took all that emotional energy spent comma-fucking and worrying about where and whether to submit things and put it into telling stories. Overthinking, it turns out, is a form of self-sabotage.
It's okay for things we write not to be perfect. It's okay for us to look at something we've done, declare it practice, and toss it in a folder. I give you permission!
It's not okay to do that to everything. Rejection never actually caused cancer. Get some stuff out there and let it get handed back to you, and learn it's not personal.
I suspect there are those who underthink, too. I probably just don't hang around with as many of those. I suspect, honestly, that there's a socialized-in gender divide. Women are socialized to second-guess and diminish everything, and men are socialized to never admit doubt or failure, and really, neither extreme makes for a healthy attitude towards a career in the arts.
Oh look, a fence. I'll straddle it.
Winter is finally here for reals, and the wind is rattling the windows in their panes and making a howling noise in the chimney that I forget about every summer. Today may be more of a problem-solving day than a wordcount day. That's also fine. We don't have to rush through things, as long as we're making forward progress. As long as our deadlines allow (Yes, I am the writer who cares about deadlines) sometimes it makes for a better story in the long run to stop and work stuff out instead of pushing ahead when you're not quite sure you're headed in the right direction.
So I have to work out the climactic conflict in "And the Balance in Blood," and I have to figure out how to justify the title, which isn't quite owning the story yet.
And, today on The Thrilling True Tale of a Professional Writer, I have to Name That Dwarf.
In the meantime, here's a photo of my workspace today. I can't believe how big that African violet has gotten: it needs repotting again. And the Christmas cactus is a cutting provided by an acquaintance (it's a bit off the giant 70-year-old Christmas cactus at a local yarn store!) and that's it's first blossom here. The color is outstanding, a translucent fuchsia. It washed out in the sun, but the sun was pretty, so I used the photo anyway.
Tea today: Holy basil with lime syrup
Teacup today: by Jon Singer, a gift from the artist.
The mug is by Heather Fachen (?sp on the last name), bought in Madison.