First thing she would ask is…where are all the mysteries? Where are the stories? Simply because I haven’t finished many. Don’t have them all published. It was easier forty years ago.
How’s that for a confidence crash?
I’ve been in a memory funk. The old should, could, would, but didn’t thoughts. The time travel wishing. The whole, it was so easy back then. Who needs writer’s block when you’ve got self-doubt and why bother?
I’m not saying, I’m not writing. It’s just a bit more of a struggle to not write and edit and then re-edit as I’m writing. The ideas are there and possibly way too many of them. This is what prompted me to wonder what my teen self would think of me and writing now.
She would be confused. And, possibly, more than possibly, a bit stunned at what I have accomplished. Two books available. One being of poetry and the other a sweet romance…a sweet romance??? That I edited others. I’m reviewing even more. None of these would have ever crossed my teen mind. Writing and publishing were dreams on paper never to be actually shared.
Pretending was fun. Pretending to have books out there, remember eBooks weren’t even a thought back then, that others would buy and read was just that…a dream. Never a reality. Not something to be seriously attempted. My anxiety-monster wouldn’t ever allow it, back then.
I dabbled in my twenties. I can admit that now.
My course changed in my thirties and forties.
Fifties…sidelined and a comeback in the making.
I would like to think my teen-self would be telling me what my fifty-self is…get writing. There’s more stories waiting.
Hmmm, I’m pretty much still my teen-self, at least when I’m writing. The editing and crafting can wait for the adult-self’s turn.
What would your teen-self think, of your adult-self? Does it really matter? 1…keep doing what’s working. 2…what’s stopping you, now. 3…too late? Nah, never.