The Reality of Becoming a Writer: From Prose to Prozac

If any of you are like me, you may have wondered what it would be like to become a writer. I had images of Carrie Bradshaw in my head: the laptop always open, the latte still steaming beside her, no interruptions. Just the perfect flow of words, witty observations and endless interesting topics. My reality is worlds away from this fictitious, abundantly confident woman. Half the time, my laptop doesn't work (it types random letters even when I'm not touching it) and I can't think of a topic. Or I think of a topic, type my little heart out and savor the proofreading process, only to have the following thought boom through my head: "Who would want to read this?"

I've discovered writing can be a very neurotic hobby or occupation. It's hard to put yourself out there--to basically put your thoughts out there on a plate for people to either devour or spit out and send back to the chef. It's an intensely personal experience: just you, your brain and your keyboard. Then, all of a sudden, you hit "send" and you open yourself to criticism, praise or (worse!) apathy. It's like going out on a blind date with a room full of people, only the spotlight is on you and you can't see any of your critics. It takes a certain kind of strength or resilience to weather the judgment of others in any field, so why does writing feel so different?

I often wonder if artists, actors, designers and such feel the same way. After all, you are presenting to the world an image created in your mind's eye. How often have any us been 9/10ths asleep only to have some brilliant idea make us sit up and scramble for a pen to write down our next title, sketch our next dress, or reveal some insight about our next character? Does this only happen to creative types or do accountants suddenly smack their foreheads and burst out with a tax deduction code? Is anxiety and neurosis the price writers must pay? Is it just me?

I believe fear of judgment stunts me in many ways. It keeps me from wearing the sexy little black choker in my jewelry box (I wore it once and someone asked me if my husband kept me chained to the basement,) it keeps me from trying complicated new recipes, from driving alone to new places, from trying new things. If fear is supposed to be a good thing, a healthy thing that keeps us from doing the unimaginably stupid, why can it grow like an unchecked Chia Pet that keeps you from your goals? Why are some of us born with the "Let's skateboard without a helmet down this railing and into traffic!" gene and others born with the, "But what if no one likes it?" gene?

For me, writing started as an activity for class and gradually morphed into a goal .That goal mutated into a fear. If I never put it out there, I could never be judged for what I wrote, just like that 5K I always say is my goal has mutated into a fear of actually signing up for it. That fear of rejection, of finishing in anything less than first place, is paralyzing. Even though my rational mind says that fear of what strangers think seems pretty silly, my Chia-Fear Mind waters the seeds of doubt. And so comes the first step of putting my neurosis on ice: I have typed, I have proofread, I have acknowledged my fears. As I near the finish line, I decide I will take this small step for anxiety-ridden, panic attack-suffering writers everywhere. Send!