I know your dirty little secret. (Not that one. God forbid anyone on the internet finds that one out.)
You want to write a book.
This means three things:
You’re paralyzed with fear that it’ll suck.
It’ll suck so bad that the entire world will snub you and right after that, they’ll revoke your social security number and put you on display as an example of what NOT to do as a human.
You’ve gotten really good at procrastination.
“I should really potpourri that one cupboard underneath the sink in the powder room in preparation for the guests we might have over for New Year’s 2015. Better now than never!“
You worry—like 24 hours a day worry—that no one will care what you have to say.
You don’t even feel important enough to sit in the dunk tank down at the local fair, let alone write a book and have anybody care.
The good news? People look in the medicine cabinet, not in the cupboard underneath the sink. Duh.
The bad news? You will always feel this way…no matter how many things you’ve written, and how many people have loved it.