Fear

I'm currently still writing on the book, and I've pretty much eaten through my buffer. That means you get a bunch of self-righteous rants! Recently I started thinking, however, and you know that can't be good. This is just a bit of steam that I was letting off. Hopefully I can tone the negativity down and aim for something a bit higher than depression.


I'm afraid.

There, I said it. Hell, I'll even add an adjective: I'm deathly afraid. The world is a scary place where so often, dreams just don't come true. It's not because of a lack of commitment or talent, but the fact that life is just so often unfair. It's a realization that's been pounded in my head more and more as time passes, and it frankly freaks my shit.

I might never get to where I'm going, the vaunted position of writer. I have two failed books in front of me, and a potential third coming down the pipeline. The experiences haven't been without their uses; I've honed my skill through every experience, getting a little better at my craft. Hell, it's not as if I can stop writing even if I'm crushed a third time. It's an obsession deeper than any I've ever known. 

I'm just tired of failure. I can handle a third failure, but I dread the fourth time, and the fifth time, and everytime ahead where I'll put my heart in something only to see it ripped out. I just want to taste success, no matter how slight. I want to know that I'm on the right track, and that one day, I'll achieve my dream.

But we're not assured that in life, and that makes it scary as hell.