The quote applies, but I don't know who wrote it.
My head actually hurts.
I have been incredibly lucky. I wrote for myself all these years. I didn't have to please anyone but me.
Then I finished my first book. It's not the first book I have ever written. It is the first book I have ever finished.
I was so excited that I let my most trusted friends read it. They were incredible. No matter how many things they found wrong, and they found a lot, they kept telling me how much they enjoyed the story.
Then I started to believe.
I thought that maybe this was the one thing, the one talent, that I had that would make me special. I don't have another one. I can't sing or dance. I'm not a good cook. I kill plants just by looking at them. I don't know how to paint or sculpt or craft. I can't put out a fire or solve a murder.
But the writing, that was mine.
I hit a bump in the road. I walked outside my comfort zone and asked for help. I was given the gift of a critique and I folded like a lawn chair. I've found out that I'm not following a million proper writing rules.
I didn't know if I could continue to write, if I should continue to write.
I reached out to my most trusted friends who gave me wonderful supportive advice. Then to my new friends who are reading my blog and they were sympathetic and understanding.
Another friend explained it plainly to me. There are rules to writing, but they are rules of usage. They don't have anything to do with my writing style.
So I decide that I'm going to just push on, onward and upward, forge ahead.
But my head hurts.
I want to write but it's like my head is completely empty.
I want to read but I just stare at the pages.
I'm hoping it's temporary. I'm hoping.