A Pound of Flesh

Writing is hard.
Writing is scary.
Writing--along with any other artistic or creative endeavour--will take years off your life.

I imagine that writing a book is a lot like giving birth: you forget how hard it is until you’re right in the thick of it. If you didn’t, no one would ever do it again.

And the reason that we do it again--even if we know what we're getting into--is because the end result is totally and completely worth it and will wash away all the pain, fear and anxiety.

So. I have had a rough week. A shit week. A week which makes Chris Brown's week look like a walk in the park. Yep. Woe is me.

Except that that kind of thinking is not going to get my book written.

All of the tools that I regularly use to pull myself up and out of the gutter weren't working for me this week. Affirmations? Not working. Visualization? Stopped doing it. Meditation? My mind was so up in arms and so, so far away from a peaceful state that I was up until 4 in the morning tossing, turning, agonizing.

So how about asking for support from my Mastermind Group? That is what they are there for, after all. I run to our meeting, in a panic, lost, scared, confused. I tell them my conundrum: I am not writing; I am a failure; I am stuck, I am scared, helphelpHELP!

Eight pairs of eyes stare at me, blinking.

-Maybe you could try setting your alarm?
-Maybe you could create a checklist?
-Maybe it's because you don't like the topic of this book?

!!!!

I leave the meeting thinking: I'M FUCKED. I am rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic here people. My request for support has fallen on its ass. I am on my own.

It's not about organization, time management or alarm clocks. It is about FEAR. Ball-twisting, tit-squeezing, suffocating, destructive FEAR.

It is up to me to find my own way out. Me who is involved in an illicit affair with my demons, french-kissing them inappropriately in a booth at the back of a bar...

I'm Stuck in the middlle...with me.

One more day goes by. Then two. I am waiting for an answer. I am consumed by fear, fear, fear. I am looking at quotes about how courage is strength in the face of fear; I am writing new affirmations about being a talented, competent and dedicated writer.

Nothing.

Fuck you stupid quotes!

I have a ten-ton weight on my back. I am carrying the book around with me like a shackle, a burden. I am trying to carry on with the rest of my life. I am at an aquacize class, lumbering around like a maniacal evil twin, a ghost of myself. I am meeting clients and doing my job, the thought bubble above my head a jumble of swear words and red, angry exclamation points. Another day goes by. Time will not stop for me. It will not wait for me to get my shit together. It will not.


I am entreating the Ghosts of Writers Past to open a door, throw me a bone, cut open a vein. Something. Anything.

I am screaming out for help. Someone help me.

And the help finally comes. A friend. A glorious, glorious friend asks me one simple question:

-'What's your payoff?"

<*blink*>

-What do you get to be right about?

<*blink, blink*>

-What is this fear supporting in your Belief System?

<*blink, blink, blink*>

I sit there, agape. Silent. Heart in my throat. Squirming.

Cheque please.

This, my friends, is what they call Resistance.

And then she sits down and takes me through a series of questions about Forgiveness, Permission, Choice, Freedom and Surrender.

It's called Belief Re-patterning. It saved my life.

I got the answers I was seeking.

Want to know what they are? Read here.