Penelope Walker is taken...
 |
| source |
Do you remember when I wrote this post? The post where I was so excited because of a photo I found on pinterest. The photo that I thought would change it all? I wrote page upon page because of this photo. The photo of a woman behind the counter at a coffee bar - I gave her a story. I gave her a family and friends and a morning commute. It took me a few pages, but I also gave her a name.
Her name came to me like a lightening bolt one morning as I was making myself my morning cup of coffee. Oh, I was so happy, loveys! After finding that name everything just clicked. Her past, her present, her future just buzzed through me. I couldn't write fast enough.
But then...
Something happened.
A few weeks after that post was published, I was doing one of my favorite things. I had grabbed a book I had picked up at an old used bookstore and took a long warm bath. I even had bubbles! Soothing warm baths and a new-to-me book is my bliss.
But then, it happened.
My character's name looked out at me from the pages of this random book. A book I had never even seen before or heard about before that day at the used bookstore. A developed character from another author with her name - my happy-go-lucky cafe barista with so much ahead of her!
My heart sank. And then it all just pretty much ruined the bath. I stomped out of the bath and into our bedroom and said, "Babe, she took her name!" A bit confused hubby looked at me waving this book in his face and it must've clicked. "Just name her something else, love. It's just a name."
No!
I haven't written a word since.
Not a single word has been thought of that could be written for that story. It crushed me.
I told myself I wasn't a writer. Who was I kidding?
"You write a blog. What makes you think you can do anything else other than that?" my inner voice told me. No, I'm not going to call it my inner voice. It's me. I don't think I can do this writing a book thing. I know I am holding myself back and I am being my own worst enemy.
I know I have to change this feeling and that it's what's stopping me from writing anything other than a blog post.
For now...I don't want to (as I stomp my foot like a spoiled brat). I'm not ready. I thought I was. I'm not.
This too shall pass...or it won't.
