... fear of failure

I remember when I finished my first book I was so anxious to get my editing on and send out query letters to Literary Agents. But halfway through editing, I guess I got my thinking on and scared myself shitless. So I stopped, put it away and decided to put it off until the next month and then the other and then the other.
As much as I continuously get agitated when I think of all the 'forces' which propelled me into a Law degree opposed to taking a couple years off school to attempt to jump start a writing career, I must actually 'fess up to the fact that fear propelled me a whole lot more than anything else. So yea, I've completed all of two books, several short stories and I dabble in poetry. But is that enough? Who knows? Am I willing to try? Because to risk following this dream (not in the half-assed fashion I have been), but to put my everything thing into it will risk me failing. You see, I am pretty sure I will be a good lawyer. If things go according to planned and I am able to teach 6th form (the equivalent of 12 grade, I think), I know I will make a great teacher. I do not have that some assurance with writing. Yes, I am extremely passionate about it. Yes, (as corny as this sounds) I believe it was my destiny that I was born to be a writer. I think I must have a bit of talent (I'll put is as Rebecca Black so maturely put it when interviewed about her song 'Friday', I just have to substitute 'singer' for 'writer', "I am definitely not the best[writer in the world, but I am definitely not the worst."
I understand the sentiment but as I sit here plotting my start to putting 310% into getting published, I am so scared. I am so scared that there is a bit of me whispering quite seductively, "Not now Rilzy... wait a couple years."
I think I have been listening to that seductive voice entirely too much to be honest. When I was sixteen it told me that I was completely too young to attempt to succeed. When I was eighteen, it told me that this was the time to focus on my degree. It is time for me to tell it to shut the hell up.
I might completely fail at this. But it will be worth it to say that I threw caution to the wind, put my heart out there and tried.

Two poets that I adore come to mind as I contemplate this.

Robert Frost:

The Road Not Taken, final stanza

"I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference."


Langston Hughes:


A Dream Deferred

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?


I don't think I want to find out what happens if I defer this dream much longer. So, here's to trying *imaginary toast*.


Tschüss!!