I can live in a messy room. I can wait a day or two to do the dishes and I am never in a hurry to pay the stack of bills on the table by the front door. I am not a clean freak by any stretch of the imagination, and I am never going to be someone who strives for a perfect, shiny show home.
I do love order but I just don’t love undertaking it. I don’t like hoovering, I don’t like cleaning or dusting and I don’t like the idea of being slave to the mundane chores that everyone has to do, but no one really wants to.
I just don’t care to spend my time doing things that don’t inspire me, and for better or worse, its the way I have always been. Yet in a small subsect of my life, in a tiny slither of my private world, I am quite the opposite. And with my passions, dreams and desires, I am anything but disorganised.
I write all the time now, which is a huge leap from where I was a year ago. Now I enjoy sitting down at my desk and spending a few hours, or even minutes, wrestling over a sentence or two. So its safe to say that I am a freakish perfectionist over the written word.
And I guess that I should be, I mean, it’s what I want to do with the rest of my life after all. But it’s still a struggle for me to know when to let go, and I think it derives from the fact that I don’t think I am good enough. I’ve always been told that I was a good writer, that I had a talent for it and that I should pursue it. But I have never quite matched those words with actual, honest success. So for me, before I take a leap into the world of literary agents, publishing houses and other such scary things, I want to make sure that my manuscript is perfect.
And that is where the problems set in.
I am a perfectionist with my work. I want everything to be just so before I even think of sending it out to anyone. Which is fine and quite a sensible thing really, but it’s also a terrible curse.
Take right now for instance. I have a manuscript, almost finished, but I want to re-read it for the hundredth time before I even send it to a beta reader. I can’t even let go of it for a few weeks without making sure that it is perfect for even that. So I dread to think how I am going to be when I start sending it to agents.
I mean, I want the work to be perfect, and that’s quite natural, but I don’t want to have it sitting in my documents folder for the next ten years because I am too scared to send it out to people.
I just need to take the leap. I know that I do. I need to send it to a beta reader and have their honest, brutal opinion on it. But it scares me, and that is something that I am just going to have to overcome. Mainly because I made a promise to myself at the start of 2017 to not sleepwalk through my life anymore. I was going to try and become published. I was going to write the idea that has been in my head for years and send it out to people. Irregardless of whether it was a success or not, I was going to try.
And then I can die happy in the knowledge that I just didn’t let my passion for writing slip through my fingers the older that I became. And at least, if nothing else, I gave it a shot.
So here’s to next week, and my last read through of my manuscript before I send it out into the world of betas. I don’t want to do it, but I think that I really have to.