Over-thinking The Obvious

I want to admit somewhere, in some form that people might eventually see that the very thought of marketing myself is intimidating. When asked why I don't just keep trying, the answer seems all-too-obvious. I am not built for self promotion. I don't have any drive to overcome. The only drive I have is to create. I'd rather sink back into my keyboard and work on the next book than fuss with creating a new query letter. 

Oddly, I've found my drive to create actually is a drive to overcome. A year later, I can't let it go. I can't stop thinking about the book, which has been festering just beneath the surface of my thoughts all this time. It threatens to burst like a blister and leave me raw and sore, begrudging me the simple joys of daily forgetfulness.

I remember often thinking, while trying to make a career out of full-time writing, that it would be nice to just take a regular job and lose myself in it. 

I remember often saying, after eventually being forced to take that regular job, that I was angry to have been robbed of my concentrated writing time. 

Lastly, now, I remember often slipping a bandage of indifference over the creative pressures roiling inside while trying to enjoy being inane. 

I cannot be happy like this. I don't know what the trait is which deprives me of senseless fulfillment. I don't really care. I can't be satisfied with what I asked for. Lately I have been choking on the desperation to be a writer again. I find myself sitting listlessly in front of my computer when there are other responsibilities demanding my attention. I am there, confused and unfocused, wishing I had invested more time in the skill of writing. I am wishing I had kept myself sharp and focused, ready to put thoughts into words. 

My attempt to forget was misguided at best. Now I have deprived myself of precious months which could have found purchase as an opportunity to field the new ideas constantly leaking in and out of my conscious mind. I've squandered it, because I was angry and because I thought it was acceptable to be so easily defeated. I fear putting words or actions to God, but I suspect He made me well, because I cannot. I cannot simply ignore this direction. 

Through catharsis I have realized that my desire to be a storyteller is not the most important issue facing my family. It is not the all-consuming mission I have often pretended it to be. It is not either something which I can cast aside at my convenience and walk away from. I must press on.

Pressing on, for now, is to send out a new query letter. My dulled wit and unused senses have objected to the concept of creating this thing. However, my creative need has had enough of excuses. A query letter of some kind is going to go out and it is going to go out now. The consequences of this will be whatever they may, but I have my fill of self-pity. It is time to advance.