the eye of the storm

The quietness in the eye of the storm induces panic. It isn’t a time for resting, rather a time for preparing. Readying ourselves and getting into position, all the while trying to remind ourselves that resting actually is part of preparing for any demanding undertaking.

After more than a year of intensive writing (plus a year before that of drafting and submitting proposals), I finally submitted the draft of the full manuscript for my book. MY BOOK! Because I’m writing a fucking book. Scratch that. I’ve already written a fucking book. I have to remind myself of how exciting this is because mostly it’s just terrifying and stressful.

Now I’m in the waiting zone. Waiting for others to tell me if what I’ve written is any good. Have all the hours upon hours resulted in anything meaningful? Or have I just advertised to everyone that I actually don’t know anything at all.

I was raised in a religion that warned against pridefulness, but to write a book or publish anything at all, you have to have some pride. You have to believe that you have something worthwhile to say. And you have to keep believing it. And believing it. And believing it.