Last week I wrote a post about the fear of running out of ideas, one of the writing fears that prevented me from taking a serious attitude about writing for a long time. Now I am proud to host a guest post by Mariane Kvist Doktor, a friend and writer, about writing fears.

Enjoy!

Mariane Kvist Doktor is a writer from Denmark. When she is not procrastinating, she writes poetry, short fiction and blog posts. She writes about writing, and her life and faith. You can follow her on servantwriter.k-doktor.dk and https://www.facebook.com/servantwriter

Confessions of a dreamer

I have a dream. I dream about writing and publishing books, but nothing happens. I fear to lie on my deathbed, mourning and complaining that I didn’t manage to write any books. That I didn’t achieve or succeeded in anything, and I didn’t achieve my dream. Am I writing on a book at this moment? No. Am I outlining a book? No. Am I thinking about writing a book? Yes. What is stopping me?

Do I lack time? Time is running and running, I’m running behind it. I can’t catch it. Time is a bus, and I missed it. Time does not hear me yelling: “Hey! Wait for me!” Time can’t wait.

The truth is I have time. I just waste it. I have a confession. I am a pro – coughs – a procrastinator. How many short stories or books have I missed writing because I’ve messed around on Facebook and in front of the TV?

What is my excuse? I’m not good enough. How do I know I’m not good enough? Ok, I am not as good as J.K. Rowling and Tolkien, but I don’t have the same names as them. My name is Mariane Kvist Doktor, and there is only one me (yes, I have googled my name). I should not compare myself to other people. I can only be myself.

Why don’t I start writing? If I never start to write, I’ll never find out if I’m good enough, and I’ll never improve or get practice. Why do I keep procrastinating?

I’m afraid of criticism and rejections. I pour out my heart in my writing, and if other people find my words indifferent, it’s as if they find me indifferent. It’s painful to be found indifferent, pointless, without value, and to be considered to be Ms. Nobody of the land of Nothing.

Then I can write to myself, to my desk drawer. A drawer will not critique me or reject me. “Hello Mr. Drawer.” Silence. A drawer has no ears or eyes. It can’t listen or respond. It is just a drawer.

I have to get over my self-pity and self-complaint. I’m not writing to myself, I’m writing to readers. My writing is not about me, it’s about you! I am called to share a message. I just have to find the right receivers, my tribe. I just have to find my one and only reader, my true love. It is like looking for a soul mate. My writing is my calling and not responding on a calling is more painful than getting critique and rejection. I’ll stop procrastinating because the voice of my calling is louder than my notebook and Facebook. It’s louder than you and me. It’s louder than the voice of my fear. It’s louder and bigger than all the rivers and mountains. It’s louder and stronger than the universe, and I know who’s calling.