Fear is a killer and self doubt is her sidekick #amwriting #mondayblogs

I spent the better part of last week in the Georgia mountains with 8 women from my writer’s group. We do this once a year, find some cabin in the woods and take a few days to submerge ourselves in work and drink large quantities of alcohol and scarf down gargantuan amounts of cheese. 

I promise that is way more awesome than it sounds. 

My goal during the retreat was to get most of the editing done for Everything She Never Wanted. I printed and bound all 200+ pages and eagerly anticipated digging in the moment I got settled in.

Heh…the best laid plans, right?

I don’t know how to explain it except to say this: I am firmly entrenched in the “everything is shit” portion of writing this book. I hate it with the fire of ten thousand suns. I mean, what ever made me think I could write anything? I seriously contemplated burning it in the fire pit outside of the cabin and enrolling in nursing school because that seemed like a better use of my time. 

Melodramatic but these were my feelings. 

Me being me, I had to sit back and dissect these feelings, get to the root of them. I mean, I don’t have the luxury of wallowing in self-pity right now. And after further examination and lots of sappy, woe-is-me words in my writing journal, I discovered the root:


Isn’t she always the problem? That bitch just won’t leave well meaning writers alone and what’s more, she brought along her sidekick, self doubt. 

Ugh. Why? 

I just don’t have time for this shit. 

Unable to sleep, I stayed up most of the night reading what I’d written. Eventually, I found what was wrong with the book and tore it apart. It felt better. It felt more Yves. I began to trust myself and my voice as a writer again. 

Every time I write a book I learn something about myself as a writer. This time around I learned that I really know how to be brutal and honest with myself about what works and what doesn’t. That is a much different place from where I was 2 years ago when I tried to pass this off as a bloated 120k word novel. That’s fucking progress, people. 

Now…time to slash, delete and tighten this fucker until it shines like the gem it is. 



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