 I catch myself saying it all the time. I'm just a girl. Most of the time, I'm saying it with my hands flying around in a completely graceless manner. "Flailing" some might call it. Whatever. I'm just a girl. I'm just a girl with absolutely no formal training in the following:
And because of that - because my college degrees fall somewhere between the wide edges of curriculum and learning to secondary ed, I often have this bubbling fear hiding behind my fake blonde hair. Maybe what I have to say isn't good enough for the readers of the world ... or that it doesn't hold merit. And isn't that so silly? Where do you suppose that clawing, overwhelming fear of failure comes from, anyway? It's not my parents - who remain my biggest battle buddies. And it certainly isn't my group of friends, who constantly stand in my corner. It's not the people I work with (many of whom don't even know I write). I don't know where it seeps in from, or why it continues to hold weight in my world. Lately, I've given fear a lot of thought as I've started to become more active around here. Did you notice the format change of Team Thumann? Did you notice I've been more active on my Facebook Author Page? Brave. Small steps. {Steps just as well.}  When it comes to writing, when it comes to the quiet sorting and sitting of your laundry out on the curb for everyone to see -- when it comes to all of that? It's deeply personal. It's like pushing out all of your greatest ideas, every one of your best one liners, and every single one of your witty come-backs out there. All at the same time. And then you take that really big breath. And you press that green publish button. And you question the whole thing. ... And that kind of all brings me to this: I've thought a lot about Boys for Breakfast. I've decided it's time to put that baby on the shelf for awhile. I'll publish the remaining chapters that I've written (unedited), but after that, I'm moving on for awhile. I feel like I've been forcing the whole book, and I haven't ever felt like I've had to force writing. I'm going to put her to bed - see where I am in a few months. Carrying around the worry of finishing is contributing to the fear of starting something new.  Fear is a liar. And the longer we sit idle in that fear? The bigger that fear becomes. So ... Let us be brave. All of us. You. Me. Even if the steps are little. Even if they're so, so tiny. They're still steps. And they're steps forward. I love you more than the homemade salsa my Aunt Lucy made for Easter, B. |
