Does everyone feel like this? Is it possible that I am not alone in this?
By this, I mean a writer trapped in the body of a man who works in a shop, a man who tries to eat healthy, tries to go to the gym, tries to lose weight, tries to see friends and family, tries to be spend quality time with my fiance, tries to cook nice food, tries to read good books; always trying.
I bought a book today. It was an impulse and it felt good. Books are definitely back. But as I hold it in my hand, I can’t help but feel not only the excitement to read it and the admiration at how beautiful the cover is, I also feel a pang of jealousy. It’s quite a fierce feeling actually, a desperate longing to one day hold my own book in my hand, to see my own book in a book shop for people to impulsively buy and enjoy.
It’s not even about the money (though every little helps), it’s not about being known or seeing my name in lights, as it were – it’s about sending a story that I have crafted out into the world. It’s about these characters having a life in another person’s head rather than just my own.
Writer’s with agents, publishers and deadlines – I envy you.
Writer’s with your books on other people’s shelves – you are living the dream.
Today, I feel at a loss. It feels like my dream to see a book of my own out there in the world is just that – a dream. Achievable? In my current frame of mind, I have to say no. Self doubt is a horrible thing and thankfully it is something that affects me minimally, not counting today. Today it is here and its presence is felt wholeheartedly.