It’s the Tuesday before FandomFest. I’ve been excited all week. And now… not so much.
I’m back on the self-doubt train again, and this time it seems that there isn’t any way off. After finding a less than friendly review of Marked, I’m having a moment where I have to wonder exactly why I thought I could do this in the first place. I keep telling myself that was just a trash story to give me a springboard, but even that isn’t as comforting as it used to be.
Some chick in her personal blog felt it necessary to absolutely rip my story apart. As in could not be any more cruel if she came after my eyes with a rusty band saw. I understand not liking something, but damn… why do you feel the need to absolutely cut someone to the core like that? I get the whole wanting-to-be-a-book-critic thing, but for the love of all that’s holy, don’t be a complete shit about it!
So yeah, that hurt.
And has left me questioning my ability as a writer. I love to write, but that doesn’t mean I’m any good at it. Since high school (and the English teacher that was never happy with my work), I’ve heard this niggling voice in the back of my head telling me I’ll never make it. That I’m not good enough. That I should just give up and take on the menial 9-5 labor of the working class.
I know, I know…
Shut up, Siobhan.
But between my inability to focus on a single project and produce a coherent non-smut draft of something that would be wanted by anyone at all, the scathing (no, that’s not right… I think the phrase DOWNRIGHT BITCHY is more appropriate – which by the way makes me want to stab something) review, and the looming threat of having to actually talk about my work to other people, I’m almost paralyzed.
My friends keep telling me I’m good… and not that I don’t believe them, but I just have a hard time believing that at all about myself. And of course I take my mother with a grain of salt because, well, she’s my mom, and she’s going to love me no matter what.
I guess I’m seeking some sort of validation… and I’m terrified that I’m not going to get it. I know I need to get over this and keep going. Intellectually, I know that. Emotionally, not so much. It’s hard to stay positive when after scouring the internet, the only review of your work you find is one that rips it to shreds, pisses on it, then lights it on fire to watch it slowly smolder while the critic stands back and smokes her extra-slim cigarette and laughs snobbily.
Gee, thanks, bitchy little girl.
Okay, okay… I know. SHUT UP, SIOBHAN.
Getting there, I promise. I really hope this is just the hormones talking. And the nervousness. However, I think that bit of evil has made my decision for me on what I’ll be reading Friday night. Let’s just hope Kentucky gives me a better reception than bitch-head-of-the-year.
Me? Bitter? No…whatever would make you think that? 😉