Truth time, and I’m also heavily addled by meds so forgive me if I’m sloppy tonight.
Sometimes I get so discouraged about what I’m writing. Praise and accolades aside, I sit and stare at my work with empty eye and a sad heart. How many tales of BatB are there in existence? How many retellings; how many twists and turns. I know that no plot is original anymore. It’s all been done by better people than myself, but there are moments like the one I’m having right now where I second guess everything I’m doing. This is natural. I know this. All authors do it, but it doesn’t make it any less disheartening.
I see remake after remake of my story popping up. I see better adaptations. I see better story. I’m not arrogant enough to ever believe that there aren’t bigger and better writers than myself out there, but is Stag really that special in the grand scheme of things? Is it worthy?
Some will say yes and others no. I’m honestly not looking for opinion here because this is a perfect opportunity for someone to strike while my guard is down. Isn’t that funny? I always walk around with my guard up anticipating that singular moment when I’ll have to block an attack from a foe waiting in the wings to sucker punch me. Fuck, it’s happened before. But that’s beside the point.
Really, there is no point to this. I’m just rambling and baring the teeth of my paranoia. Will Stag eventually go somewhere? I’m going to push my fucking hardest to get it published and stocked on bookstore shelves. I’m going to follow my dream even if I’m laughed at the entire way there. Just one foot in front of the other. One breath at a time.