I think I have an idea for a book. The problem is, creeping doubts are entering my brain again. I don’t know how I wrote as many books as I have given these doubts are my long-time companions. What if I’m subjecting the world to mediocre, or worse, bad writing? What if there’s a reason nobody is reading my books?

I’m told these misgivings are part and parcel of being a writer. I doubt that people on the NYT Bestsellers List go through them.

I feel like I’m 62 and still haven’t found my niche. What if I’m not called to do writing? What if I’m not called to do anything?