Member-only story
When You’re Writing, Bolt the Door Shut
The story of The Riot Act, a book that will never exist.
I have a mighty need for validation. I imagine that most of us writers do.
This makes the novel-writing process a great deal more difficult. I want people to see what I’m doing. I want them to celebrate what I’m doing. I want them to lavish praise and encouragement on me. Otherwise, I’m spending years of my life pouring thoughts into this electricity box for no good damn reason.
I know exactly how I look when I get going, when I’m swept up by the story I’m working on, and it’s been days since I’ve left the computer for anything other than the toilet, food, and bed. Especially when my hair is gone long and my clean laundry is running short; I tend to look like some kind of creature from the pits of hell.
Validation, especially from fellow writers, feels so necessary: No, you’re not wasting your time. You’re creating. You’re a creator. You’re a writer.
I can’t tell myself these things. I won’t believe it if I tell myself. I will accept kindness from family, friends, and complete strangers off the street, but I cannot accept it from myself. I know that bastard. He’s shifty.
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