The writing bug is back, baby! I can feel that familiar old buzz returning in all its glory. All those possibilities racing through my dandy mind. Interviewing authors for the Spotlight newsletter over the last couple of days appears to have whipped me up into something of a creative frenzy. I hadn’t consciously factored in the idea of chatting to authors as a motivational technique prior to joining the Spotlight team at the start of the year, but it makes perfect sense in hindsight. I mean what better way to kickstart one’s creative passion than conversing with others who’ve lived and breathed the quirks of spinning narrative magic? It’s certainly one way to remind myself why I do this.

In addition to this, I’ve also recently plunged back into my short story project this weekend. Following on from my previous entry, this is the collection of tales I’m working on alongside my Synthetic Empires project. It seems a single work in progress is never enough for my brain to latch onto for a prolonged period, so I require multiple toys to play with in order to starve off boredom and detachment. Instead of simply sitting down and straining my brain into thinking up new stories, I’ve decided to go through my Unfinished Projects folder to find out whether any of my abandoned endeavours could work within a five to ten-thousand scope story.

I must say, I’m absolutely loving the process of sifting through and dusting off old concepts. Transpires my unfinished folder is teeming with all sorts of delightful TV scripts, nascent novels and ancillary journal entries that appear to wield more potential than I gave them credit for. They’re a literary pick ‘n’ mix of funny, scary, and emotional romps. Each and every one of them, once upon a time ideas that sparked so much excitement within me.

But yet here they sit, resting on a pile of other disused ideas, abandoned in favour of the next best thing I’ve mustered from my daydreams. One minute they were all I could ever think about, the next I couldn’t care less.

This notion has mustered up a flicker of annoyance beneath the cloud of glee I’m feeling about writing today. Because underneath all this freshly conjured energy, I’m genuinely miffed off with myself. I’m sat here, rooting through digital piles of notes and drafts, asking myself: why do I do this? Why do I pick up an idea, sprint with it for several weeks, then toss it into the virtual trashcan without giving it a further moment’s notice?

I already know the answer to this, of course. It’s a cycle I’ve talked about in this very journal series before. I’m scared of finishing my stories because, deep down, I’m terrified of them failing. I invest hours of my life into them, hoping that the investment will someday pay off, but then my inner goblin leans in and whispers its toxic nonsense:

If this fails, you’ve wasted your time…

It’s a barmy notion, to put it kindly. Afterall, by listening to that self-loathing whisper, I’m actually creating the very thing it’s supposedly protecting me from. By closing down the word processor and moving onto something else, I’ve essentially wasted weeks on a half-finished document that will never see the light of day. There is no end, no publication, no product; just me and a half-baked idea.

I’ve been shining a spotlight on my “inner goblin” (the name I’ve assigned to my self-loathing) for quite some time in recent months. In short, it’s the mean, critical voice that’s been playing on repeat in my head from about 1996 onwards; a voice that was programmed largely by the bullies and handful of nasty teachers from my childhood. For too long, this inner-critic was at liberty to run riot in my life unchecked. Recently, however, I’ve been taking the nefarious little gremlin on, calling out its hogwash for what it is. Much like the very wimps who helped engineer it in the first place, the moment you stand up to an inner-bully, it runs away crying almost immediately. It transpires that my goblin is a coward of the highest order!

Challenging it has freed me to excel in numerous areas of my life over the last few months. I’m more confident, in control, and forgiving of myself. It’s all been ever so liberating, I must say! The thing is though, I’d just assumed these improvements would be limited to more day-to-day matters, such as gaining confidence or feeling less undeserving of being in a room with other people. Yet in addition to more general matters, it always appears to be revolutionising my creative confidence too!

All those times I started working on something rewarding and fulfilling, my inner goblin would pipe up with taunts:

No one’s gonna read this drivel. You’ve the wit of a puddle on a damp day. Stop wasting your time. Go find something you’re actually good at.

I’d gotten into the habit of ignoring these taunts, but sadly that would only last for a short period. The moment I had a bad day or received a spot of criticism for my work, the thoughts would win. I’d stop working on the novel, distracting myself with something new and unique, until the cycle repeated. It was a futile rhythm I’d gotten myself caught up within, which meant I’d seldom finish anything of value.

Which is why I need to make sure I’m challenging my inner goblin in the context of my creative work too. I must start practicing what I ruddy well preach. I’ve said time and again that writing should never be about money or fame. There is no time wasting! It’s about the fulfilment of having written something that matters to the person who authored it. It sure as heck wasn’t about materialistic reward when I scribbled storybooks into existence as a little girl. Completing a project is an achievement in and of itself. If I fail, I can simply learn from my failure. If it succeeds, then what a delightful surprise.

I pledge to carry on this fight. Each time I’m in a state of doubt when having a bad day on Synthetic Empires or my short story series, I must remind myself that the process will be worth it regardless. I am not wasting my time. Despite the number of redrafts or naff days I have, every second of effort I invest is of value.