My Wednesdays are supposed to be devoted to writing. Or at least reading well in an attempt to improve my writing. But every Wednesday since Christmas I have found it imperative that I wash windows or strip all the beds in the house, go on trips with my eleven year old or even tackle a huge pile of ironing. Why?
I'll tell me why. I'm afraid. No matter how many people tell me my work is good or even 'no worse than a lot I've read' - I kid you not! I veer dramatically from thinking I might have some talent to wanting to shred everything I've ever written. And all that in the space of an hour. Imagine the swings in a week, month, year. To make it worse I don't know which I'm more afraid of. The work being ok or the work being crap. I also don't know if I will ever ever believe any compliment about the work - I always find some reason why somebody might be kind to me.
It can be very tiring - all this self-doubt. Even more tiring than actually writing. Which is why I'm making this a very short post and going off to indulge in a little snooze and some more contemplation of whether I should write more or not. Ah - procrastination - some people call it life!