It’s week 13 at the MFRW (Marketing for Romance Writers) blog hop challenge and already I’m wondering if evil fairies have taken over the topic building list.
My greatest weakness? Really? Seriously? I had to pick this week to jump in the fray?
Ah well, it’s just words, right? I can do this. I can answer and own up to my greatest weakness and… but how will I choose what my greatest weakness is when there’s already so much competition for that #1 spot?
By being honest. (Ugh, I hate me and every durn honest bone in my body right now.) Okay, fine. I’ll go there.
Ladies and Gentleman, at the top of my greatest weakness list is… ugh, I can’t believe I’m going to admit this…
*fake gasp* Like that was a shocker. But I said it. Now, can I end this blog? No? WHAT?! Why not? You mean, I have to go on and talk about it and… Lord, take me now.
Fine, I’ll talk about *shudder* my greatest shame, weakness, and my freakishly awesome ability to doubt every single little thought I have and thing I do. I’m a rock star at it. Complete and utter master at undermining my own self-confidence. It’s the greatest feeling in the world when I do that to myself! It’s–head, thud, chest.
Not even I can cheer lead pom-pom thrash my way out of that quagmire of muck.
I’d say my ability to self doubt is a talent, but really… it’s a finely honed skill. One that comes with its own bag of neurotic tendencies that include a lay-away plan for a strait jacket and an all inclusive trip to a padded cell.
It’s awesome. I love it. No. Really. I. Do.
Spoiler Alert: I Don’t Love It.
Actually, I hate it. A lot.
I may love waffles, but I can’t stand waffling back and forth between this and that. It happens almost every durn time after I write a scene then step away from it.
It doesn’t matter that I was totally in the zone and hearing—practically channeling—every durn word of a scene onto the page as fast as my sexy little fingers could pound them out.
It doesn’t matter if I’ve poured my heart, my soul into a story that brings me to tears or laughter or moves me with passion… I still get that sick nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Do you know the one I’m talking about? It has a voice all its own. A nasty, clingy, dirty voice that rips apart every shred of hope and belief in yourself, then tears you down with a tone, a look, a single word until all you want to do is… ball up all your hard work and toss it in the trash.
But I don’t toss it in the trash. Because I’m sick, twisted, and… waging war on my inner saboteur and all her perfectionist ways and means.
That’s right. I said I’m waging war on my inner critic.
It’ll be an ugly war. That takes no prisoner. It’ll be me versus me in a battle to The End.
What weapons will I use to fight this war?
The only ones that’ll win. By giving my inner perfection-ating bitch exactly what she says I write:
That’s right, from this moment forward I will write nothing but complete and utter crap.
It’ll be the worst stuff I can write.
I’ll lower my standards and stomp on that quality bar until more crappy words ooze out of it.
And I’ll be happy—no, giddy—while I do it.
I’ll be chocked full of so much happiness and glee at mucking up every known formulaic plot known to mankind that my masterpieces will look like train wrecks of epic proportion. They’ll be like reality side show Bob skits gone horribly awry in a fiery explosion of wordy badness.
You (my inner critic) say I’m not allowed to put adverbs in my manuscript? Well, tough shit. I’m putting them in there. Gleefully. Obnoxiously. Territorially. Exponentially.
Then I’m turning every character’s name into an adverb—because I’ve had it with your shit fairy bombs on my pity parade—this is war and it’ll suck to be you because Sally Lee, Gregory Lee, Tonya Leigh… they’ll be adverbing your ass to death. So hah! Take that you freakishly perfect inner saboteur-ed-ness.
Say what? I can’t turning point here? Well, mirror moment this, you interfering sack of crazy. I’ll rip the bandaid off my protagonist’s wound whenever the E-F-F I wanna. And when I’m done ripping that sucker off, I’ll keep going. Then I’ll rip off another. I’ll escalate the hell out of this crazy train plot to the point that you’re gonna scream mercy.
That’s right, and you’ll take it. And like it. Because I’m an evil author. With a helluvalot more turning points to irk your holy irkiness with, you scaredy cat, control freaking, apron string hugging inner critic.
Booyah–mic drop. That’s what I’m talking about.
*clears throat and attempts to regain composure by retracting fangs and claws*
And that, my dear friends, is how
the West my writer’s voice was one. I mean, won. By exposing my inner weakness and bludgeoning it into a bloody pulp submission.
Okay, so this submission thing is only gonna last for like 15 minutes or so. (Because I know me.) Which is why I’m opening up the comments box and begging—pleading, sobbing, begging—for suggestions on how to up my game, win this battle, and gut my antagonistic self and her antagonistcially annoying self-doubting ways and means.
So how about it, my fellow blog hopping authors… you got any words of wisdom for this self doubt riddled author? Any tips and tricks you’ve picked up over the years? Any choice adverbial battle phrases or cut throat comma splices or apostrophe-ic boycott chants you’re willing to share that can help me kick this self doubt neurotic tendency out the door?
(If so, keep scrolling down, I promise there’s a comment box down there somewhere. After the blog hop info link thingy)