Sometimes writing is like the Pacific Northwest weather. Moments of brilliant sunshine, quickly followed by ominous dark clouds. A patter of light rain that suddenly turns to snowflakes. Snow. In March!
My mood and my output fluctuated with today’s weather. I’m almost done with the outline and organization of my second book. I slid into my desk chair full of optimism as the sun poured through the windows of my borrowed office.
Then doubts swept in with the clouds. This is a lot of work. Who is going to want to read this anyway? Do I really have anything original or entertaining to say?
Rain gave way to sudden snow flurries. An idea for another book popped into my mind. Maybe that’s what I should be working on? Maybe that’s the market I need to pursue….
My energy and excitement for my current project flagged. Chilled, I shrugged on a sweater and stared at my screen. Too many tabs open. Too many doubts nagging.
That’s the writer’s life. Moments of absolute confidence in your voice– your words; followed by the dark empty silence of self-doubt.
I finished the section I’d started and packed up my laptop. Stepping out into the damp gray, I longed for the warmth and confidence of the morning. Scanning the horizon I saw a flash of color– the faint beginnings of a rainbow. A promise. Whatever the weather the words will come.