It was late 2019. A few months earlier, I'd published my 16th book; the first in my new cozy mystery series, and I was working on the second. I also hosted a podcast - Word Play with Kristine Raymond - which was rapidly growing in popularity. I'd been a published author for just under six years, and with dozens of story ideas floating around in my head, I was excited about my future... until some unsolicited, yet well-intentioned, advice about my plans from a person I respected derailed that excitement.
Before I continue, I want to be clear that this person meant no harm. The fault lies with me (and my insecurities) for allowing a seed of doubt to take root and flourish.
Just as a plant doesn't go from seedling to fruit-bearing maturity overnight, my withdrawal from writing and everything to do with the book community came about gradually, so gradually that I didn't recognize it for what it was.
The first casualty was my work-in-progress. All of a sudden, I hit a wall that seemed insurmountable. Regardless of my angle of attack, my ability to coherently transfer words from my brain to figurative paper vanished. I chalked it up to the growth of the podcast which, at the time, consumed most of my energies. It seemed a plausible explanation, so I didn't dig deeper, though my frustration at being unable to write continued to grow, eventually working its way into the podcast as well.
In January of 2021, unhappy with the direction my flagging career was headed, I made the difficult decision to put Word Play with Kristine Raymond on hiatus in order to 'get back' to writing. Great idea. Poor execution. Whenever I thought about publishing a new book, that advice sprouted a new tendril of uncertainty, wrapping itself tighter around my soul. I didn't recognize that each time I hesitated over the keyboard, questioning my creativity, I fed my self-doubt; supercharging it with heaps of fertilizer in the form of self-deprecation. All the more frustrating is that while I was unable to write, new story ideas, new characters, new adventures sprung up faster than I could scribble them down. I'd make an attempt to start something new, the cursor blinking steadily against the stark white background of a blank page, and become overwhelmed with indescribable emotions that left me sick to my stomach. Closing the document with the promise that one day I'd tell the story, I questioned if that day would ever come.
I stopped doing interviews, no longer willing to put myself out there. I withdrew from social media; deleting old posts, ignoring friend requests, uninterested in sharing my work. I stopped promoting, stopped everything to do with the books I'd already released, yet held on to a slim thread that someday I'd publish again.
Fast forward to a few weeks ago. I was chatting with a close friend and the topic turned to my writing, or lack thereof. She listened as I poured out my frustrations and fears, tracing them back to that piece of advice that I should've shrugged off at the time instead of inviting to live rent-free in my head FOR THREE YEARS!!! The mere act of giving voice to that specific incident rather than allowing it to continue to grow unchecked inside of me loosened those tendrils of doubt, their leaves dying back, the stem withering. Based upon what I shared, my friend came up with four affirmations to get me back on track and I recite them several times a day, though I'm not quite there yet.
My life is in a different place now than it was in 2019, and vestiges of that person's 'suggestion' linger. But it's only a matter of time before I yank my insecurity up by its roots, toss it on the compost heap, and get back to writing...
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