I’m a writer. At least on good days I’d like to think I am. My problem is perfection. Of course most artists are perfectionists, but I’ve also been an editor. I know what it takes to make it in the cutthroat world of publishing. It ain’t easy.
My friend recently asked me if I would consider self-publishing – which I would because I know it can lead to a traditional publisher finding your work – but I can’t get anything written. Why? Well, because I over-think things. There is one story I’ve had for a few years now and it has evolved over the years, yes, but it’s gotten out of hand and I just over-think this idea until it’s something twisted and ugly and not what I want at all.
I just haven’t figured out how to stop myself. I claim to be a writer, I want to be a writer, but I can find a million other things to do besides writing. I don’t live and breathe writing like every other writer out there. And I don’t know what to do about it.