Long over due…

I struggle a lot with my inner critic. To the point of all but giving up my dream of long-term publication. I’ve lost the “joy” of writing, if I ever even had it. I’m searching for some answers and here’s a little something I’ve found and some thoughts I had recently…

I’ve been reading a new book on writing called the 90 Day Novel – here’s a short excerpt:

After just finally sitting down and writing and letting it all hang out (so to speak):
I realized two things in retrospect: I didn’t tell anyone I was writing this story, and I consciously gave myself persmission to let go of the result. In fact, I had decided that I might never show the book to anyone once it was done. This freed me to write the story I had always wanted to tell without concerning myself with the opinions of others. After so many years of struggling to make it, and angsting over “what the market was looking for,” I finally surrendered and just wrote the story, a dark tale of fathers and sons, of family secrets, of rage and redemption.
He goes on to tell how after a quick re-write, the manuscript found it’s way to an agent a bidding war, and a half million dollar contract.
I learned an important lesson: when we make the story more important than the result, the story has a chance to live.
And THAT place is where I need to be.  I think where I need to be is crafting that story that’s lived in my brain since before I met my wife, some tweny years ago – the story that’s germinated there, and whether I take a similar one and make it urban fantasy or make the original epic world (probably starting in a microcosm off-shoot) – just not worry about whether it ever sees the light of day.
At least if I get something down on paper – who knows, maybe no one will ever see it, but maybe one of my kids will get the manuscript and “get it” and re-craft it into something that becomes the next Jordan/Martin/Tolkien whatever. But ultimately, getting the story written is more important than whether I make a dime on it…
I’ve been a  story teller forever.. I can already see it in my kids. We are bards, and wordsmiths. Back in the day, bards used to live on enough to see the world and sing for a meal – they didn’t need private jets, meals in Soho and shopping sprees spread between 5th Avenue and Rodeo drive. ;)
And, I think when I truly believe that, and give in to the story instead of to the worry.. the story will come.