Authorial Anxiety
Feb. 23rd, 2011 10:34 amVia Kay Kenyon: Scare of the Week, and What to Worry About (and What Not to Worry About).
It may be true that ordinary books are doomed. Right now I’m not going to argue the facts. But please, can we just put a lid on the anxiety, here?
As you may be gathering from all the writer’s blogs you’re following, writers have a lot of things to work on and maybe worry about. And then there are the scares of the week, and the perennial anxieties that made you nuts but are paper tigers. But which is which?
I definitely agree that everyone ought to worry themselves sick over the length of their fingernails because, as every successful author knows, it is impossible to create peerless prose unless said fingernails are exactly the same length.
I got to hang out a little with Kay at Radcon. She's a terrific writer (go check out her "The Rose and the Entire" from Pyr) and blogs intelligently about writing and the writing life. Not only that, she's lovely and gracious and fun. And manages to post exactly what I need to hear when I'm seized by paroxysms of literary self-doubt.
It may be true that ordinary books are doomed. Right now I’m not going to argue the facts. But please, can we just put a lid on the anxiety, here?
As you may be gathering from all the writer’s blogs you’re following, writers have a lot of things to work on and maybe worry about. And then there are the scares of the week, and the perennial anxieties that made you nuts but are paper tigers. But which is which?
I definitely agree that everyone ought to worry themselves sick over the length of their fingernails because, as every successful author knows, it is impossible to create peerless prose unless said fingernails are exactly the same length.
I got to hang out a little with Kay at Radcon. She's a terrific writer (go check out her "The Rose and the Entire" from Pyr) and blogs intelligently about writing and the writing life. Not only that, she's lovely and gracious and fun. And manages to post exactly what I need to hear when I'm seized by paroxysms of literary self-doubt.