My dream has always been to write a novel. Not just write, but as my vanity demands, to be published. A story that’s within me. But when I read books by acclaimed authors like Salman Rushdie, I feel, who am I kidding. I am not intellectual enough. I will never be able to write anything worthwhile. I didn’t get the Ivy League education. I don’t know enough of history. I haven’t travelled enough. I’m too old and it’s too late for me.
Will I be able to write something of value? Something that will not waste the time and money of readers? There are books which I have regretted buying as I was bored quickly after a few pages. I don’t want to be that kind of writer.
At other times I feel, yes I can. There is an audience out there for each and every one of us. A little tribe that can relate to your experiences.
It’s this constant struggle within me.
And meanwhile, I am such a procrastinator. I haven’t quite started apart from the little essays I have penned in my diaries which make me feel utterly self-conscious when I read them again later.
Do you have similar yearnings and doubts? I have a need to put this out there to work through my own thoughts.