There Are So Many Reasons to Stop Writing.

But I haven’t. Yet. I don’t know why.

Photo by Dayne Topkin on Unsplash

I’ve picked up my novel again, just over the last week or so. And I’ve made myself write almost every day — nearly up to 5,000 words on this draft. But I’ve been doing it through a voice that insists, quite clearly and quite obviously, that I am wasting my time.

And not only that, but I am opening myself to disappointment. As someone who’s life frequently involves disappointment, there’s a part of me that thinks I should burn away everything that will invite disappointment into my life. I’ve had enough for a lifetime, and then some.

Playing video games isn’t fun, exactly. But you get out of it what you put into it. A video game will never disappoint you, not the same way that an inbox full of rejections or low engagement on blogposts will.

But yeah, every word I add to this manuscript, every thought and phrase is being hammered away with the thought. You’re wasting your time. You’re wasting your time, you’re wasting your time.

It’s insistent. It’s repetitive. But it’s logical, too.

Looking at all of the YA authors winning awards at the ALA conference this year, two things strike me almost immediately:

1. There are a lot of people writing contemporary YA, my…