...and they're off. Maybe.

OK. So the National Novel Writing Month (or NaNoWriMo) starts tomorrow, November 1st. I signed up to participate, filled out a profile and everything. The goal is to write 50,000 words in 30 days.

I am completely scared out of my mind.

I am scared I won’t finish. I mean, c’mon – I can’t even update this blog on a semi-regular basis.

I’m scared that it will suck. The problem with all of my writing is that I hate it as soon as I put it down. I also don’t dare show anyone because someone close to me will tell me that is does suck, I’ll lose any confidence that I had, and then I definitely won’t finish it.

I’m scared that if it doesn’t suck, that I won’t be able to sell it. I mean, what’s with all the work if I can’t sell it? Isn’t that the ultimate goal?

I’m scared that no one will like it, whether I sell it or not. I’ve always felt that my writing was always such a part of me, as silly as that sounds. I don’t like opening myself up, I don’t like being vulnerable. I am not a risk taker—at least, not where this is concerned.

Most of all, I’m scared I’m over thinking this.

Why did I sign up to do this again?

I guess that I feel that, as the founder of this contest says, writing a novel is a “one day” goal, as in “one day I’ll write a novel”. This is to get people to commit to an attempt and to reach the goal. Which makes sense to me.

I watch other authors and the juggernauts they’ve created: Stephenie Meyer, J.K. Rowling. I mean, Holy Cow, I will probably never be able to do that. They’ve changed pop culture, for goodness sake. I’m not that good.

I wish that I thought that I was. Maybe this would be easier. Maybe that’s what I am most afraid of, beyond all else:

I’ll find out that I don’t have any talent at all. Dreams are always safer staying tucked into your heart.

Opening my heart is always scary.