Cold doubt
What if this daily writing project itself is spurred on by misplaced motivations, unhealthy impulses, un-analyzed desires?
What if it's adding a stress and burden of production to a reality that doesn't need it?
What if it's trying to "force" something that just needs to be let alone?
What if the better choice is to simply work dutifully, be a loving husband and dad, and lay to rest these literary pursuits?
What if the very concepts I'm preaching on are invalid, or dangerous? What if I'm wrong?
What if I'm motivated to be a published author through erroneous influences, and I need to better interrogate those impulses?
What if my true calling lies elsewhere? Like here, at home, with my family, not doggedly pursuing the approval of an unknown agent, publisher, editor or readership.
I don't know for sure the answer to any of these questions.
I ask myself for perspective, but my body simply returns the answer, "I'm cold." I've been wearing a winter jacket and a toque while I write tonight. The co…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Kevan Gilbert Notes🎶📝 to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.