I set a very aggressive writing goal for myself this weekend. I began it with three chapters left in my outline and I wanted to be completely done with them by Monday. I want to be typing the words ~the end~ very fucking soon. So I'm fully immersed in writing, forsaking nearly everything else in my life so that I may reach this goal.
...and I'm scared shitless.
I've been writing and thinking about and researching this simple little book for so long and I can hardly believe it's almost out into the world. My anxiety is through the roof. I just want people to like it. I think I'm finally super close to the place where *I* like it, finally and I'm a harsh critic.
I always feel like I know what I want to write, but sometimes the synapses don't fire off what is seen in my mind's eye to the fingers to type it just right. So this journey has been full of hand wringing and frustration at not being able to get what I think are the right words on the page. Then I have to realize that the story will come out of me in the way that the characters move me to tell it. As much as I think I'm in control, I'm not. These fictional figments of my imagination are running the show and I'm at their beck and call.
But once I type those final two words I'll have finally done it. I will have completed an entire book.
Holy shit, I wanna vomit.