Today is the local author’s fair at the public library, and I am suffering from a severe case of impostor’s syndrome. This is new; normally I enjoy the author’s fair, given that it’s the only time I go out in the public and talk about my books. But this year I feel reluctant to do so.

It’s something I have been fighting for a little while, though. I’ve been wrestling with writing something new, I have been unmotivated, I’ve just been feeling blah about my endeavors.

It’s even more complicated than that, of course. I’m afraid of sinking (further?) into obscurity, and I’m equally afraid of my writing career picking up. I don’t want it to stay the same, either. I’m at an impasse where there’s a boulder on the road in front of me and a washout behind me.

Given all this, I would prefer my career to go forward, because that difficulty would come with a side of satisfaction, which is not as present in the other options. I’m all for climbing over the boulder somehow if I can manage it. There’s much I can’t manage in terms of promotion and the like; I am doing all I can within my time and money means. But I have a presence on Facebook, Threads, Blue Sky, and in this blog, and I send a newsletter to 2800 people. To torture my boulder metaphor further, what I need is a bolt of lightning to pulverize that rock so I can climb over it.

I guess what I want is for the effort to be worth it, because I’ve written 9 novels (plus one that didn’t survive) and I feel foolish writing another. If you have a moment for good wishes, wish for me to find a way over the boulder.