The self doubting game and spelt pasta for dinner
It's supposed to be a short post today, as I have a few things to catch up on before next week arrives and "SCARS" finally comes out. This has been a hard book to write, well, not to write, no, but to decide whether I should put it out there or not. Endless self doubt not being quite the brint of it, the fact is, "SCARS" got re-written way more than any other book before, only because there was just too much of me in it, too many demons of mine exposed inside those pages, far too bluntly. They're still inside it, but now in a much more subtle way. I had to get rid of the rawness of it all in order to feel comfortable about getting the book out there, for anyone to read. Also, bad criticism on the previous novella has left me rather shaken as to the purpose of my writing.
It's always hard when you have reached a certain stage where you know what your writing voice is, and you've developed it over the years and eased yourself into it, honed it down, made it yours, finally accepted this is who you are; and then someone comes around and tells you it's all wrong, YOU are all wrong, what you are, who you are is simply NOT good enough and you need to change what is your innermost essence in order to conform to society rules - in this case, writing rules. It's hard to be told your work sucks and as long as you insist on writing like that you won't get readers, you won't get praise, no one will like your work at all, and consequently you, because in the end, I put so much of myself into my books, they're basically me. It's hard to listen to this and keep going, it's hard to take this in stride and not wonder what's the point of giong on.
So yes, I have been second guessing myself as to the publishing of this book and all others that may come after, because I am aware that what I write - if not the thematics - and how I write is not what readers seek these days. I am not comparing myself to anyone, but it's always an eye opener when I go around Goodreads and see all the rave reviews about books I've read and found lacking, of poor quality, evidence of lousy writing, without spark to them, without soul, without vibrancy and magi between those pages. It always gets me thinking I probably wouldn't know a good book if it hit me in the face, and I'm the one who's wrong, because if those books get all those amazing five starts reviews and I'm the only person thinking they're a piece of crap, then I must be wrong. And so my writing is all wrong. And it won't reach audiences nor resonate with them. So what's the point?
The point is, in the end, I'm probably delusional and believe my work to be so much better and of so much more quality than these other books that never fail to astound me as to their absolute crappiness. The point is, even if I stand alone in my belief of what I write and how good it is, I do stand by each and every word I've ever written. And I put it out there, only to please myself, only in the hopes that somewhere, someone is going to read and understand what I did there, someone is going to read and the words will resonate with them, someone is going to read and love those lines beyond anything else. Someone will see what I see. So the book is getting published after all the to's and fro's, even when I'm scared shitless of its contents and its cover, even when I'm a hundred percent sure most people will not understand that novella at all, and will take it for something it's not. I keep telling myself it'll be alright, I will be fine even if I get trailblazed by bad reviews and horrid criticism, and I will, in the end I am always sort of alright. It will hurt as it always does, though.
What doesn't hurt, ever, is fresh pasta. I just can't get enough of it, there's just something so rich, so comforting about fresh pasta. This one in particular, as it's spelt pasta, was one of the best I ever tried. Kudos to my husband, he's the pasta man, not I. This is is recipe:
- 300 gr spelt flour
- 3 eggs