Meeting with my writing group these days is a bit of a double-edged sword. On the one hand it makes me feel part of something amazing. Novels are being written, accepted, published and launched . . . short stories are being churned out . . . dreams are being lived. I love sitting around a table as we did this afternoon, red wine flowing, stories or chapters being dissected, other writing-related topics discussed.
But at the same time it's getting harder to take myself seriously as part of this group. My publications are non-existent, I've been working on the same novel for as long as I can remember, and -- worse -- I am continually struggling to find the discipline/time/energy/confidence to write at all. (And then when I do write I'm so damn slow it's painful.) What then do I bring to the table? How can I sit alongside these guys and call them my peers?
Mostly I return home after a writing group meeting feeling inspired and determined, but sometimes it puts me in a funk. Today's attack of the sads probably has much to do with other dilemmas life is throwing at me at present, and the crossroads at which I find myself. I used to have more self-confidence than this, but, after plugging away for all these years with nothing to show for them, it's starting to take a beating. Hopefully tomorrow's book launch -- a very exciting day -- will snap me out of it!