The Hanged Man

When Dedication Dips Into Desperation

I’ve been feeling anxious about my writing career lately.

Not that I haven’t been many times in the past too, but a few months ago, unlike now, I was very focused on my writing, simply enjoying the complex progress of creating my epic fantasy novel, and was able to separate myself well enough from the pressure of ‘making it’.

But then my focus wavered, as I started writing a shorter novella. What started as fun, became a string of questions — Why am I wasting time on something unedited, unworthy to be properly published? Why couldn’t my brain stick to the novel I’ve been working on for years instead of chasing a new shiny carrot?

As if the answer couldn’t be as simple as: Why not? I wanted to.

At the end of the day, writing is a passion I’ve carried with me most of my life, and what has brought me back to it time and time again was the sheer pleasure I get from written self-expression, nothing more, nothing less.

In a vacuum, I would still keep writing.

However, that sneaky monster of the need for external validation likes to catch me at my most vulnerable moments, and this is one of them.

It’s tangled my thoughts and emotions in a chaotic, dark swirl, and getting out of it…