I’m scared I’m not writing the next best thing.
The thing women huddle around and whisper about
on lunch breaks and girls’ night out.
I’m scared that one day I’ll realize that the years of writing
and reading about writing
and immersing myself in writing
will have all been a waste of time.
I’m scared no one will love my characters as much as I do.
I’m scared that this – writing – is my thing. The thing I was born to do.
But that doesn’t scare me half as much as the thought that if I’m right,
and I still fail,
I’ll have no idea what to do then.