My super fantastic friend bought me an awesome Christmas present. It’s this gorgeous, leather bound notebook, with amazing paper, tooled leather … seriously, it’s awesome.
See? Awesome. I love it. I keep picking it up and flipping through it, or feeling the patterns on the tooled leather, or just sitting back and admiring it.
The trouble is, the intructions along with the present were that I have to promise to write in it, but that’s a tough one! It’s so pretty, and looks so distinguished – nothing I write belongs on those thick creamy pages sprinkled with flower petals. Even if I did write something worthy, I’m far too reliant on my backspace key to be able to write without having to scribble out mistakes, which just doesn’t seem dignified for such a notebook.
I feel the same way when I let someone read a story for the first time. What if it’s all crap? What if they love it? What if I’m terrible at this and wasting my time? What if I’m good at this, what if people would actually buy it? Which is scarier?
I’ve submitted to publishers, but I’m having trouble getting up the courage to query agents. It feels so much more personal to me, I’m not sure why. I chose agents I like, I polish my query … and then I don’t sent it. I worry that what I’m writing isn’t marketable, that my query is dull, that my lack of prior publishing experience is going to doom me from the start. I wrote my first manuscript, and said I’d query agents for the next one. The next one is ready, and now I’m thinking that the third manuscript is so much stronger, I’ll just wait until it’s polished, and query agents then. I’m being a chicken, I know. Like the commercial says, I should Just Do It. And I will. Soon. Really.
I’ll write in the notebook too, like I promised. As soon as I find just the right pen.