I want to do better. I want to be better. And that requires effort, dedication, and saying NO to the Netflix button on my Roku.
There exists within the writer a place of doubt that's deep and jagged. It's where we keep our failures, our fears that we are not "real" writers, our negative thoughts about ourselves and our abilities. Sometimes, we fall into this hole and we float there, in the morass of all that is wrong with us and our writing. Yet, we also make a grab for the walls, bloody our fingers, scrape our skin, breathe fetid air, to climb out. We do not fill in this hole, we need it ... to write. To write through fear, through anxiety, through doubt. We need the push, the panic, the despair not only to imbue the words on the page with realism, but to conquer our own demons--squash them flat with our weapons of keyboards and stubborn persistence.
So. Here I go. Into the hole. Into the morass with its monsters, its pain.
And I will come out again on November 30th, bloodied, sweat-drenched ... and triumphant.