If you’re a writer and you don’t read Chuck Wendig’s Terrible Minds site you might want to. And if you’re a writer, you’ll know the power of words, but you’ll also know words are only words and his use of them is meant to elicit a reaction and you won’t be offended. ;) Here’s a snippet from a post he did last year on doubts. Good stuff.
There’s doubt. A gaunt and sallow thing. It’s starved itself. It’s all howling mouths and empty eyes. The only sustenance it receives is from a novelty beer hat placed upon its fragile eggshell head — except, instead of holding beer, the hat holds the blood-milked hearts of other writers, writers who have fallen to self-doubt’s enervating wails, writers who fell torpid, sung to sleep by sickening lullabies.
Suddenly Old Mister Doubt is jabbering in your ear.
You’re not good enough.
You’ll never make it, you know.
Everyone’s disappointed in you.
Where are your pants? Normal people wear pants.
You really thought you could do it, didn’t you? Silly, silly penmonkey.
And you crumple like an empty Chinese food container beneath a crushing tank tread.
I followed a link from Allison Brennan’s blog at Murder She Writes to this one at Terrible Minds. Pop over and read Allison’s, too. Always nice to know we’re not alone.