Noisy Silence

I've found myself in this predicament a lot more than usual in recent weeks: I want to write something, but I have no idea what that something is. It's not that I have no ideas, or that the ideas I have are too numerous to just pick one out of. Currently, there are three - no - four W.I.P. stories open in front of me. Frankly, I'm not sure what the problem is... but hopefully by the end of this, I'll have an inkling.

Maybe I'm trying to tackle too many genres at once. The stories before me range from horror, to romance, to epic fantasy, and... well, I'm not really sure what genre one of them falls into, as it has elements of all the above and more. Although all these stories are going well, and the characters seem to be taking shape, something's just not jiving like it should be. I just feel sort of stuck, and I'm not sure how to get un-stuck if that makes sense.

I could always start something new. That's always the trap that writers fall into, though, isn't it? The well dries up halfway through a project, and it's easier to scrap it and start over than figure out what's wrong and see it to completion. The perfectionist in me won't allow anything to be left half done, however, especially since I plan to publish one if not all of these stories in the future. Maybe that's the root of the issue.

Having one's work proudly sat upon a shelf in a bookstore is every author's dream. Well, it's certainly mine, at least. The road to that shelf from my laptop, however, is a long one, full of pitfalls and ziplines over crocodile-filled lakes and steep cliffs with sharp rocks at the bottom. In order to get published, one needs to seek out a publisher... and the thought of that honestly scares me to the point of tears.

As a lifelong introvert, striking up a conversation with anyone - even if it's someone I've known for years - is a daunting task. Talking on the phone is more anxiety-inducing than a rickety wooden roller coaster at a county fair, held together by three rusty rivets, a wad of spit, and a prayer. In fact, I'd pick the screaming death trap roller coaster every time. In comparison to both, however, the idea of presenting my finished work to a publishing company has me quaking in my sweatpants and fuzzy slippers.

It's not that I'm afraid they'll say no, because they probably will. Statistically speaking, it's bound to happen at least once, especially as I'm a nobody in the literary world. Rejection is all just part of the creative process, really. It took Tolkien five years to get "The Fellowship of the Ring" published. Rowling had to fight for "Sorcerer's Stone", as it was rejected by twelve publishers before it finally went to print. Even Disney had to go to the bank three hundred times before they greenlit his loan for Disneyland. While I am not nearly conceited enough to consider myself the next Tolkien or Disney, and I would never strive to be like Rowling (she's become more of a trainwreck than I even want to get into), I would be lying if I said their perseverance wasn't admirable.

I think it's the idea of getting that far - meeting with a publisher, and sitting there while they hold my manuscript in their hands - just to be told "no" again and again and again. I can handle rejection; I'm just not sure I could handle it multiple times over. On the other hand, they could say "yes", which would be amazing... but then, an even bigger challenge begins. There will most likely be editing to do, and discussions about the overall design of the finished book. Not to mention marketing and production costs and convincing a bookseller on my hands and knees that my work is good enough to put on their shelves. It promises to be a long, difficult, painful, and potentially expensive process.

What I'm afraid of isn't failure... it's success. And failing at succeeding.

At this point, I feel like nothing I'm saying makes any sense. I'm also not sure I'll even submit this rambling stream of consciousness. These thoughts have been weighing on me for a while now, and I just... had to get them out. Maybe I'm just overthinking it; I do that a lot. Or maybe, I'm once again falling into the trap of self-sabotage, cutting myself down at the knees before I even start running toward the finish line. I do that more times than I care to admit, too.

I want to be successful. I want to get published. The closer I get to having a finished story, however, the more scared I get. It's stupid, I know... but I just can't help it.