Carol Moncado

FYI: Mom, you’re not gonna like this post. Be forewarned.

Ugh.

“Life’s full of ups and downs.”

Hills and valleys.

Mountains and… well, valleys.

I hate valleys. I know I’m supposed to like them and be all “God, thanks for helping make me stronger” and stuff, but yeah. Notsomuch. Maybe someday I can look back on them and say that [and I have], but when going through them…

/sigh/

I’ve been promising myself I’d be more open and transparent and that maybe I’d blog more that way… I dunno.

I just know I had a good few days. Really good. Over 6K on a new WIP that I love. In three days. Progress on Nick and Becca. Making new friends who understand the writer’s psyche.

But then it all crashes. Less than 300 words the last two days. Unlikely to write tonight. I just stare at the blinking cursor. And I’m good at telling others what I do when I’m stuck – and I usually do those things – but right now… I just wanna chuck it all.

Give up on the dream.

Why me?

What makes me think I can do this?

And yeah – I know everyone says that. All great authors have been rejected [no, no new rejections – not until the Genesis semi list comes out on Friday – then I’ll likely be rejected twice at once; I know this. Usually I’m okay with this. Today I’m not]. All of them go through spells believing they’re not good enough. Or that they’ll be a one hit wonder or… Insert favorite feeling of failure here.

I get that. Really.

But I also watch American Idol. The first couple of weeks are filled with the initial auditions. Some of them are fabulous. The next Carrie Underwood. Or whoever. But some of them… “My mom says I’m fantastic.” You cringe when you hear that, don’t you? Because you know this person, most likely, is horrible. And you ask yourself why none of this person’s friends and family have never loved him enough to take him to the side and say “Look, FRIEND, I love you. You know that. And that’s why I’m telling you right now that even Paula would have a hard time saying something nice about your singing.”

And some of them come back year after year.

I wonder if I’m that friend. The one that is going to keep sending queries to editors and agents. And every time, they read it and cringe and wonder why no one has told me that I simply can’t do this writing thing.

Yeah, everyone has the self-doubt thing going on. But sometimes it’s because you’re really, really not any good. Like if you wanted me to take out your appendix. Trust me. You don’t want me to try. Because I’m no good at medical stuff.

I wonder when someone’s going to pull a Paula Abdul and sit me down and, as nicely as possible, tell me that if I never wrote another word it would be too soon.

This is a valley. A fairly bad one full of self-doubt, occasionally bordering on self-loathing. With little things that wouldn’t bother me most of the time beating me over the head like a two-by-four. I’m sure I’ll snap out of it. Eventually. And look at this post and, someday, point at it and say “See? I’m just like everyone else.”

Until then… I wish I had some Ben and Jerry’s…

Did I mention I hate valleys?

/sigh some more/