mirror-mirror

Rather than post about my rather dreary week, I put something very last-minute together. And once I got started it turned out to be fun.

Just a little quick-fic. About self-doubt. Or taking generalized advice. Or what happens to blog posts when you’re not focusing your energy on a real manuscript. :XOXO:

MOTIVATIONAL DIARY

Day One
Read a fine piece of advice on a multi-pubbed writer’s site today. It suggested that every struggling author out there should stare into a mirror every day, look themselves straight in the eye, and say, “I am a great writer.”
So I’ve decided to try it. Positive reinforcement and all that. It’s only a mirror, after all. What can it hurt?

Day Two
I’m actually having trouble doing this! There’s something about looking myself in the eye that makes it nearly impossible to lie!
I think it’s called ‘cognitive dissonance’.
Guess I’ll have to make my own mantra true.
Take that, self-doubt!

Day Three
Staring into the mirror like this has revealed all kind of insecurities. And a blackhead, right near the tip of my nose (snort!). But starting to get the hang of it. I only giggle a little now when I repeat the words. And I really want to believe that somewhere inside me there really is a great writer.

Day Five
Really glad this diary is for my eyes only, because anyone else reading this would just laugh. But honestly…there I was, smiling into the mirror, maintaining eye contact and assuring myself I was da stuff—and for some strange reason she winked. As if it was all some private joke.
Huh. I mean, of course, that I winked. Either the silliness of the exercise is getting to me or I’ve developed a nervous eye tic, lol. Will try for bed early tonight. I’ve been working too hard.

Day Ten
The lights.
The lights in the bathroom are much too bright. Why in the world did I decide to put those Hollywood, beam-me-up-Scotty lights directly above my mirror where they could play tricks with the shadows? There are times—dare I say it?—times when the image in the mirror barely even looks like me. Times when it looks at me with an expression of absolute contempt.
My writing has become strange. Erratic. Even my crit partner expressed some concern. Am thinking of switching genres. Not happy with the old work. That’s probably what my subconscious is trying to tell me. Time for a change.

Day Fourteen
It’s not my imagination. It never was.
Even as I sit here in the dark, writing before the glass, she stalks me. I can feel her eyes on me, straining to take charge, hear her snickering laugh in the shuffling sound of my page turning.
“Bitch!” she screamed as I smashed all the bulbs. “Let me have the work. I am the author of this. All of it. I can make it real. I can make it great!”
This diary is useless to me now. My fingers tremble too badly to write. But I can still shatter the spell, try to end the nightmare—to break this mirror now, before it’s too late…

Day Twenty-One
It was silly of me to splurge on renovations. Selling my first novella must be my excuse. I think it’s made me giddy, lol. But the remodeled bathroom’s coming along nicely, I’m feeling much calmer, and I realize I don’t need to look to the mirror for confidence. Yay!
Good thing, too. The contractor had a devil of a time getting the new one mounted. But it’s done, and being held firmly in place.
Did I mention that my debut editor thinks I’m a great writer?