I have been fighting the worst funk of my life the past couple of weeks. I'm not sure what has been going on with me, but I can honestly say I have been on the verge of some sort of clinical depression.
I had lost the will to write, whether it was fiction or this blog. It just didn't seem important to me. I just wanted to wallow in self pity and failure.
It sucked.
I'm convinced that part of it was physical. I apparently had some kind of virus or bug or something that left me feeling exhausted and damn near catatonic. The glands under my neck were swollen and I had a headache all of the time.
Blech.
I had written the opening scene of my new WIP and then struggled mightily to move it forward. Everything I wrote was garbage. Seriously. None of it is usable.
Concerned, I stopped writing for a few days. I figured I just needed some time away from fiction writing for the first time in three years. A week went by and ... nothing. I still felt crappy and completely uninterested in writing.
I even talked to my wife about seeing a counselor. Or a shrink. I needed something.
I still might.
A few days ago, it occurred to me that I had given up. That I had fallen victim to my own lack of confidence. I had become convinced that my first book sucks, that it will never be published. Consequently, I felt no need to continue writing. I was a failure.
Why go through all of that work again, just to fail again?
As some of you know, I am a vice president/communications director for RS Operations, a global marine salvage corporation (Google us and invest!). Things have been looking up there, so I figured maybe I don't need to chase my dreams. I can help someone else chase theirs!
Some back story: Several months ago, I started following the blog of 16-year-old sailor Abby Sunderland. She was attempting to become the youngest person to sail nonstop around the world. In a boat. Alone. I grew to admire her courage and how she was determined to make her dream come true, no matter what anyone said.
I could relate, you know?
So imagine my horror when, during the absolute depths of my depression or whatever it was, I signed on the Internet to read this: Teen sailor feared missing at sea.
Like most people who follow blogs regularly, I really felt like I had come to know this girl. I had commented on her blog and she had commented back. We were blog buddies!
And now she was missing somewhere in the Indian Ocean and feared dead. I was heartbroken.
I followed her saga closely and, unfortunately, became convinced the child had perished at sea. I was angry. At her for going. At her parents for allowing it. At the sea for taking her. I was pissed. And sad.
I also had this sinking thought: That's what happens when you chase your dreams.
I signed on the Internet late Friday before hitting the sack and did a Google search on Abby to see if there was any new information (once a news junkie, always a news junkie). I happened to see a breaking news item that said an Australian Airbus was due over her position within ten minutes. If she was alive, they might be able to either spot her or make radio contact.
I stayed with the Google stream as it was updated in real time. Ten minutes passed. People were praying for this girl online, mainly on Twitter. Most didn't seem to expect a positive outcome. I didn't either, to be honest with you.
Twenty minutes passed and no news from the Australians. I felt really bad and was thinking about going to bed.
And then this moved on the Google Stream -- Breaking News: Teen sailor found alive and well.
OK. I'll admit that I raised my fists in the air, let out a whoop and then sat there and cried tears of joy. I have kids her age. I could only imagine the joy her parents felt at that moment.
And at that moment, my depression broke. It dissolved. Gone.
This girl had risked her life for a dream and nearly lost both. But she intends to try again, despite almost dying.
And I intend to keep on trying, too.
Dreams are too precious to give up on.
I learned that from a 16-year-old girl.
Go Abby.
I had lost the will to write, whether it was fiction or this blog. It just didn't seem important to me. I just wanted to wallow in self pity and failure.
It sucked.
I'm convinced that part of it was physical. I apparently had some kind of virus or bug or something that left me feeling exhausted and damn near catatonic. The glands under my neck were swollen and I had a headache all of the time.
Blech.
I had written the opening scene of my new WIP and then struggled mightily to move it forward. Everything I wrote was garbage. Seriously. None of it is usable.
Concerned, I stopped writing for a few days. I figured I just needed some time away from fiction writing for the first time in three years. A week went by and ... nothing. I still felt crappy and completely uninterested in writing.
I even talked to my wife about seeing a counselor. Or a shrink. I needed something.
I still might.
A few days ago, it occurred to me that I had given up. That I had fallen victim to my own lack of confidence. I had become convinced that my first book sucks, that it will never be published. Consequently, I felt no need to continue writing. I was a failure.
Why go through all of that work again, just to fail again?
As some of you know, I am a vice president/communications director for RS Operations, a global marine salvage corporation (Google us and invest!). Things have been looking up there, so I figured maybe I don't need to chase my dreams. I can help someone else chase theirs!
Some back story: Several months ago, I started following the blog of 16-year-old sailor Abby Sunderland. She was attempting to become the youngest person to sail nonstop around the world. In a boat. Alone. I grew to admire her courage and how she was determined to make her dream come true, no matter what anyone said.
I could relate, you know?
So imagine my horror when, during the absolute depths of my depression or whatever it was, I signed on the Internet to read this: Teen sailor feared missing at sea.
Like most people who follow blogs regularly, I really felt like I had come to know this girl. I had commented on her blog and she had commented back. We were blog buddies!
And now she was missing somewhere in the Indian Ocean and feared dead. I was heartbroken.
I followed her saga closely and, unfortunately, became convinced the child had perished at sea. I was angry. At her for going. At her parents for allowing it. At the sea for taking her. I was pissed. And sad.
I also had this sinking thought: That's what happens when you chase your dreams.
I signed on the Internet late Friday before hitting the sack and did a Google search on Abby to see if there was any new information (once a news junkie, always a news junkie). I happened to see a breaking news item that said an Australian Airbus was due over her position within ten minutes. If she was alive, they might be able to either spot her or make radio contact.
I stayed with the Google stream as it was updated in real time. Ten minutes passed. People were praying for this girl online, mainly on Twitter. Most didn't seem to expect a positive outcome. I didn't either, to be honest with you.
Twenty minutes passed and no news from the Australians. I felt really bad and was thinking about going to bed.
And then this moved on the Google Stream -- Breaking News: Teen sailor found alive and well.
OK. I'll admit that I raised my fists in the air, let out a whoop and then sat there and cried tears of joy. I have kids her age. I could only imagine the joy her parents felt at that moment.
And at that moment, my depression broke. It dissolved. Gone.
This girl had risked her life for a dream and nearly lost both. But she intends to try again, despite almost dying.
And I intend to keep on trying, too.
Dreams are too precious to give up on.
I learned that from a 16-year-old girl.
Go Abby.
