Hopes and Dreams: Almost A Business

Have you ever had so much on your mind–so much that you are enthusiastic about that you’re having trouble figuring out where to start first?

 

Finished cleaning up my studio this afternoon. Such a pleasant place to work now! #declutter #amwriting

A photo posted by Marla Dawn Holt (@tinydinostudios) on


 

That is me lately. I have been

    • Working on my soap company. All I need are labels and photos and I can open for business!
      • I am taking pre-orders, especially for my pumpkin spice soap.
      • I have so many ideas for this soapy business, and I can’t wait to implement them.
    • Slowly but surely drafting a new novel.
    • Working with a beta reader to improve last year’s novel so I can send it to an agent.
    • Crafting a new website, because I am finally giving that freelance writing thing another go.
      • Seriously, if you need anything written, give me a holler. I’m for hire.
    • Thinking a lot about the intersection of health and fitness and feminism, and especially what that means for me as a plus-sized woman who has always wanted to run far, ride my bike anywhere, and just generally kick ass.
    • Considering┬ádoing health coach training so I can write about the above with more authority.
    • Trying to figure out where I would write about all of that. Probably not here or on the other blog. I was thinking maybe on medium.com?
    • Preparing myself to have another baby.
    • Reading really stupid romance novels, and entertaining the idea of writing humorous/feminist reviews of them somewhere, because damn, so many are overtly sexist, homophobic, racist, and full of insecure women with zero self-awareness that these books are definitely not sexy.
      • But then I think if I want to publish romances with confident women, who don’t take shit from overly-muscular men who are constantly growling, “You’re mine!” maybe I shouldn’t make fun of the ones who do?
        • But really, can we please stop pretending these things are sexy? It’s terrifying.

I am well aware that this is far too much for any one person to accomplish in any reasonable amount of time. And yet I’m not convinced it’s not doable, even with a newborn in my future, because I’m not giving myself a time limit. I’m doing the things that bring me joy with the hopes that I can eventually finagle myself a career out of the mix. Because I am sick of being afraid that I really can’t do it.

The fear that I’m not clever or quick enough to accomplish any of this has lingered since I was finishing up my degree. I wasn’t writing as quickly or confidently as some of my classmates, and I was frustrated with the quality of my work. I was however working 40+ hours a week and barely scraping by, getting very little sleep, not eating very well. Taking a nap was my version of taking time for myself, but it was more like crashing and burning.

No wonder I was having trouble.

I’ve learned to give myself more of a break since then (that’s where the trashy romances come in). I’ve also figured out that the fastest way to shut down my writing mojo is to think that I can’t. If I ask myself instead, “How can I write about this?” the ideas come-a-flowin.

My only trouble now is working out when to do all of the actual writing.

Minor detail. I’ll work it out.

What do you wish you had more time for? Talk to me about it in the comments.

 

 

 

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Scary Stories

Thank you so much everyone for the great show of support over my last post. It took me two months to figure out how to write those words, and now that they are out there, I feel liberated.

I also feel this horrible pressure to produce a stellar follow up. I look at my word processor with a little bit of fear now, thinking about how I am going to top the last post? Or, screw top it, just match it? How am I going to do that consistently, two or three times a week, every week, forever?

The obvious answer is, of course, to put my butt in a chair, my fingers on a keyboard, and start typing. For a long time though, even that was too hard for me to do. I would sit down and the ants-in-the-pants feeling that prompted me to learn how to knit just so I would have something to do with my hands–that can’t keep still, have to fiddle with something anxiety that settles in my jaw and hardens my shoulders–would paralyze me with tension. If I let it go too long, it turned my stomach and knots up my neck until I can’t see for the pain radiating through my head.

I used to open up a word processor and fear my potential. I would sit numb in front of my computer, the ability to think having fled in the face of this big, scary thing I said I wanted to do. Not wanting to take the time to search out the right words was easy to blame on being busy with work, being tired from the kids, being burned out by school. Closing the lid on my laptop was so simple and authoritative an action. No writing today.

November 1st, I sat down at my computer and told myself to write 2000 words. No pressure. “They don’t have to be good words,” I said to me. In fact, let them be shitty words. Let them be boring words, just write them. You can always change them later.

That’s how I got through the whole first draft of my novel.

Nanowrimo taught me how to write everyday. But I was still afraid to do simple things in my story–honest things–like have two characters who are fighting get really pissed off at one another. My climax was the most amiable, life-changing altercation you’ve ever seen. The problem was, in my head, this pivotal confrontation was monumental, but the conflict on the page read as trivial at best.

The final third of the novel hangs in the balance, and I’m afraid to let the main characters say too many mean things to each other in case the reader stops liking them?

How stupid is that?

Not only does that not give you, as the reader, enough credit, but it completely undermines the whole point of the story. No conflict = no story. If my characters were sensible people, he and she wouldn’t be in the predicament they’re in in the first place, and you probably wouldn’t ever read it, because it would be boring as hell.

(You’re enjoying all this vague talk about my novel, aren’t you? What’s not to like?)

Fear of readers not liking my characters kept me from committing to a crucial scene, and fear of boring you now made this a really difficult post to write. Scariest of all is what I’m planning to do next–which is to pursue writing as my (eventual) main source of income.

Isn’t that the freakiest shit you ever heard of?

Scares the pants off me.

Not only does seriously pursuing a freelance writing career involve sitting down at my computer every day and facing the fear that my words are fucking lame, but it also means that I have to drum up the courage to make for myself the profession, but have always feared I’d fail at.

What’s even more horrifying though, is not trying at all.

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