Think about swimming at the beach. Your first tentative steps into the surf, feeling the pull and swirl of the tide at your ankles. The first waves unrolling their force against your knees, your torso. You swim out until the water is up to your shoulders, waiting for the predictable pattern of swell and recession, then dive over the peaks, beneath the surf, emerging for breath a shimmering thing. Darkness gives way to light. Infinity to horizon. Gravity to weightlessness, bobbing on the surface as the water cradles you.
This has been how my writing process has been going lately. I wade into something, tentative, unconvinced. I go a little deeper, pummeled by the disillusionment that comes from reading other writers, wondering if I can ever come close to their talent. Those waves recede and I dive back into writing, but it’s a constant battle between drowning in doubt and surfacing into conviction. Buoyed by acceptances, head pushed under by rejections. Up and down. In and out.
But when I hit on something that’s working? Oh, that beautiful weightless feeling of floating free and happy in something bigger than yourself.