I have that feeling, simmering away in my gut and my chest; that feeling you get when you know you have a dam lot of work ahead of you, and there isn’t anything you can do about it other than look up and meet it head on.
You have moments when you think, ah I could just look the other way, I could just ignore it for a bit, and that would be so much easier as I could do this and finish that.. I could just leave it alone and do it another time.
But then reality rears it’s ugly head and that voice of reason responds, yes but it’ll still be there, and it will still need to be done.
I’m writing this book, and have been for the last 14 months. I have done a lot, a lot of work already; but I know there’s still more ahead of me.
Not finishing it is not an option. Not in a million years.
I’ve already invested too much blood, sweat and tears; and I am bloody stubborn when I want to be. I want to finish this book, I want to get in done, and dusted and then send it out into the world to see if anybody will take it on and help me get it to the people I want it to get it to.
Working, and writing is bloody hard and bloomin painful at times; but I know full well that not working, and not writing, would be even more painful.
It’s not an option- simple as.
So.. I am gritting my teeth and clenching my jaw. Pushing that dull roar in my ears and slight sense of butterflies in my stomach down and turning it into a ball which I can use, and write from, and hold onto as strength, determination and discipline.
I anticipate a hell of a lot of work still to be done- but all I’m wondering now is how high I will rise to the challenge..