I was right. Still wide awake at almost 3:00 am here. Blah. Decided to spend this time transcribing the interview I have with Robert J. Sawyer from my digital audio recorder to text, so that I can set up the Robert J. Sawyer page for July. Still waiting on Orson Scott Card's response to my e-mailed interview before I can put that up.
Problem with my digital recorder is that I can't fast forward and rewind. So if I pause I get behind so far that I can't keep up with my typing (even though I type quickly) is that I have to stop it and start over. So it involves a lot of sitting around and waiting as I listen to the portion that I already transcribed. It's caused me to enter into a Zen state of consciousness, I think. I'm sitting here in my bathrobe with the lights off, thinking about life.
I've been restless lately. Part of this is, no doubt, because I'll be moving soon. Always kind of a pain. But it seems like more than that... I've been working on my writing a lot lately, and I feel a breakthrough coming. That terrifies the hell out of me.
My whole life, I've been willing to settle for being mediocre. I went through school and got good grades without ever really having to work hard. It's been years since I've put my heart on the line for a girl, ever since I had it ripped out the last time. I settled for the first job that I was offerend. Fortunately, I love it, but the fact is that I didn't risk things to get it. I didn't throw myself through grad school to get a job at NASA some day, like I once wanted to. Writing is the dream that's potentially within my grasp these days, and I'm afraid of two things: That I don't have the nerve or willpower to go for it, or that I don't have the skill to go for it. I find the first fear more realistic. I'm convinced of my skill, though I've never had a sale. But the paranoia is still there.
But lets say I begin succeeding in the short fiction market... what do I do then? I don't like not knowing things. One of my most relaxing thoughts is the realization that I'm going to be stuck along, romantically, for quite some time. At least I know what to expect on that front. In writing, I don't know what to expect. How many stories before I should push for a first novel?
This is me: always worrying about things far in advance, while I don't bother with the problems of day-to-day life. Like do I have enough money in the bank to take care of my deposits and everything for moving? How am I going to move all of my crap? No, these things are of no importance to me. I don't worry about them. I'm worried about when to write my first novel, even though I have no idea which of my ideas I should start with. Very convoluted. I hate being neurotic.