My deadline to finish the book is in exactly seven days. SEVEN DAYS-
I’m flush with ideas, like usual, really great things that I’m not sure how to fit together- but my writing isn’t coming naturally at all. I feel that my writing isn’t interesting, isn’t good. I know that even the simplest of stories can be told greatly, and the most complex stories can be told simply- but why am I unable to write?
I ask myself this and I already know the answer. In a mask of insecurity, I’m finding reasons to say I can’t do this, even though I CAN. In my mask of insecurity, I’m trying too hard to write like others, like the other authors on my bookshelf- who I am not, and therefore I cannot write in their style.
In my mask of insecurity- I am ruining myself.
I also call it The Resistance.