Well, that's close enough I suppose. It was astonishingly wonderful with a huge amount of awesome splashed in for good measure. I read quickly, but this was like super sonic speed. I could NOT put it down. Just ask my roomie.
Me: Huh? Oh sorry, really good part.
Me: I know. I'm sorry. It's just soooooo good. What were you saying?
Samantha: Wanna eat lunch?
Me: (skimming book again and listening with half an ear) Huh, yeah....uh huh.
Samantha: Let's go eat some Rocky Mountain oysters (we discussed this before and both agreed that we would probably never try this unusual treat. Sorry to those who enjoy, I just can't).
Me: Mmmm, hum.
Samantha gives up for a couple hours.
Samantha: What just happened?
Me: It was incredible. It was just *sigh* (go back to reading book)
Samantha goes back to what she's doing with a roll of her eyes.
I finish the book with a moan.
Me: That was awful. I hate this book. *throw book to the end of the bed*
Samantha: (don't know why she hasn't just started ignoring me at this point. I think it's because she loves books too and she knows what they do to me. She also has a unique understanding for what a writer is going through as they write, without writing on a regular basis. I think she's a gift from above.) What happened? Was it a terrible ending?
Me: No, it was wonderful. (I stare at the book at the end of my bed like it is going to start laughing at me. and then it hits me. I'm never going to be that good.)
I share this with Samantha and she argues against me saying that every writer thinks they will never be as good as the authors they look up to most. That eventually, I will get there.
Still, doubts plague me. Are my ideas good enough? I hold up a mental image of my book against the experience I just had reading the one at the end of the bed. It almost makes me sick. At the moment my WIP is a jumble of thoughts and actions without anything to hold them together. It is a piece of work. Literally, I feel like I have so much work to do with it and still, after I do all that work, what good will it do? Will it really ever be good enough to be placed on those coveted book shelves? I just don't know.
Don't get the idea that this is a moaning fest either, because that is not at all my intent. My point is this. If we all focus on our fears how will we ever keep moving? Yeah, it's a possibility that my WIP, one that I've been working on now for about 5 years, will never be good enough to hit the shelves. There's just no use in thinking about that. There's no point.
I can take the book I just read two ways.
1. It's hopeless.
2. It's wonderful. One day I will do that to a reader. I will make them throw a book across the room and then collapse on their bed, his/her head face planted into a pillow with a moan. Their roomie will ask them what's wrong and they'll respond that they just finished the most incredible thing ever. The roomie will then walk across the room, pick up the book and turn it over. The cover will be wonderful. It will be gorgeous. It'll have the title written in font that everyone will try to imitate and then there will be one thing more....
This is what I believe because to believe anything else will mean to believe in nothing at all.
What do you believe? Do you let yourself fall for your dreams or do you play it safe and not let your heart take over the statistics in your head? Don't forget to check out my contest!