This moment of self-doubt is brought to you by...

... paranoia, neuroses and the hunch that I'm wasting my time with this...


One of the drawbacks for a full-time freelancer is the dead period. No calls. No work.

Sure, no deadlines are nice for a little bit, but then doubt creeps in. There's no work -- is it actually because there's nothing available, or is simply because I'm a useless writer and every one knows it? And if that's case, why hasn't anyone said anything? (Or worse, it's been implied and I just didn't get the hint...)

I mean, I was typing away at a Starbucks in the beaches yesterday when some random fellow plunked down at the table beside me and immediately began chatting. I was informed I looked like a writer, and he was convinced I would be very successful... without having read a single thing I'd written.

In essence, blowing smoke up my ass for no apparent reason. (There was no requesting of phone numbers or staring at my chest, or anything. I was wearing pretty frumpy comfy clothes.)

But it got me to wondering -- how many friends and colleagues have been blowing smoke up my ass, fearing to tell me the truth?

...That I am a bad writer.

Words to tremble by, and they would be devastating. But I'd pick up the pieces, wouldn't I? The dream shatters (too bad), I fall apart and then take a new direction in life.

And of course, part of me is terrified to really know. But all the same, I have to wonder how many people have read my stuff, said, "I really like it" or "this is great" and actually thought to themselves, "Fuck, she's wasting her time. This is mediocre crap at best."


I do dislike days like this.
Am heading to montreal tomorrow for the weekend. Maybe things will look up after a mini-break.
Christ, I hope so.