Red Room Where the Writers Are

I recently had a very long conversation with another writer, whom I respect and like very much, about my manuscript and what it needs: an overhaul.  All of his suggestions rang true with me, and were extremely helpful, but when I hung up the phone I felt like I’d just ended my first day climbing K2.  I feel like there’s so much work to be done, and I don’t even know how to start.  But of course when I said that, my friend refused to let me off the hook (in fact he kind of kicked my ass).  He pointed out that I do know where to start, and I’m not lazy or dumb or any other characteristic that would stop me from shaping the story the way it deserves to be shaped; the truth is that I’m afraid.  

I’m afraid to put my whole self into it again.  I did that once, twice actually, and both times I ended up feeling unsatisfied (or sporadically satisfied but still unpublished).  And it kind of crushed me, because I’m a little bit sensitive and low on self-confidence.  I know, I know: wrong profession!  But I can’t help writing.  It’s just what I love.  So I keep on keeping on, and just hope that every time I’m hurt by a rejection or frustrated with my own seeming inability I’ll bounce back eventually.

But I’m still not ready to overhaul the manuscript yet (or to cut 30% of the writing, which was another suggestion, and which would make it more of a novella), so the plan is to take a little break and work on my short nonfiction/memoir pieces.  Hopefully someday soon I’ll be up for the challenge, but for now I’ll just watch the sunset and enjoy my Yak butter tea here at base camp.