Hanging Out In Procrastination Station
In keeping with the train metaphor from the last post, I've been laidover in procrastination station for several weeks now, as evidenced by the fact that my last post here was over a month ago (how the heck did that happen?) During that time I have grown a year older, written next to nothing on my latest novel project, made no progress on my quest for a new agent, and read one agent's blog that has me worried I might not only lack the skill to be a successful writer, but perhaps the looks as well.
Buried in the back of my mind (and perhaps a big factor behind my procrastination) is the concern that I'm simply not good enough. My writing is okay, the book I'm trying to sell is okay, the book I'm trying to write is okay, my looks are okay, but are any of them good enough? Don't get me wrong, I'm not lacking in self confidence, at least not most of the time, but this whole trying-to-find-an-agent thing does tend to make one doubt one's abilities. It's a painfully humbling experience and I can't help but wonder if I'm wasting my time writing and trying to get published again. Plus, there are so many other things to do: plant those bulbs I ordered last spring (what the hell was I thinking?), poop scoop the back yard, pay some bills, get my hair done (for that all-important author look, donchaknow), and play a few games of Scrabble. There are books to read and TV shows to watch and emails to write. Then there're the dogs looking at me with those pleading eyes in hopes of a walk, the laundry to do, the dishes to wash, the groceries to buy, the floors to vacuum, the job (a necessity for all those bills I have to pay), and all the message boards and other blogs I like to read .... including the fascinating and educational musings from the gin-swilling, George Clooney-worshipping literary agent known as Miss Snark. The list of distractions is endless.
Yet despite all those other things, I know I'll somehow find the time and motivation to keep writing, to keep sending out queries, and to continue to humble myself in search of that publishing holy grail. I'm beginning to believe the whole thing is a form of mental illness.