The Unpublished Ego
It happens.
We think we're better than we are. We know the average book advance. We know it takes a lot of writing before you're good.
But it creeps up on you.
You're different. You're golden. You know everything. You've done your research. You've got a great idea. You've studied openings, plot, character - every piece of craft. Your first book is different. Because you're different.
It can even paralyze you. Keeping you from writing.
You drift off into the daydream of attending conferences as that suave, sophisticated, damn-sexy speaker that everyone keeps pawing over. You're the star. People recognize you on airplanes and in airports. You imagine being slightly embarrased by it. You see people reading your book. Then you imagine being overwhelmed by it. Then you imagine feeling justified by it. You imagine slighting someone who once slighted you. You showed them! You're different.
Then you remember you have to finish the damn book before all this can happen.
I mentioned in the last post that I'm writing a crappy first novel. It has to be crappy. By definition, it should be crappy. Why am I so bothered when it IS crappy?