Something rather strange happened to me yesterday. It was a pretty good day, cold yet sunny, and I had essentially just finished most of my final paper for the Academic year. Things were looking up, and a lot less stressful. When I arrived at work, and retreated into my mind as I usually do when I dust the gallery, I couldn’t stop the thought train. Do you ever begin with a thought, and then let it transform and escalate into something that does nothing but depress you? I do. Unfortunately sometimes it happens often.
Your mind is a funny thing. A thought it not one, but it is like a magicians scarf; tied to the end is another one, and another one, and another… and there’s no telling if that scarf is bright or black. Well my first scarf was a thought about all the time I would now have to really sink my teeth into my summer projects. I’m planning to work on two ideas: a YA distopia, and something else which I haven’t categorized yet, but it will be darker, and hopefully thought provoking.
But then I began to doubt myself. What happens after? There is still so much more I need to learn. Should I search for a publisher? An agent? Should I self-publish, and if yes, then how? I feel as though I am an infant trying to cross a busy street sometimes, unsure of my success.
Luckily I know some very wise people, and luckily one particular lovely woman doesn’t mind giving me as many pep-talks as I need. She asked me why everything had to happen now. And that’s a good point. The future is vast and deep with potential and time for me to slowly mold myself into who I want to be. There is time to learn and try and fail and succeed and I always seem to forget this. You live for the moment and then you think that you haven’t lived well enough.
What is more, this constant future thinking, and the constant concern about who I want to be in five, ten, fifteen years, is stopping me from enjoying the me of now and today. The writer I am now will not be the writer of the future.