I hate the night. I am scared of it. Night brings the terrors to me and feelings of utter failure.
I am daylight person with the nuances in between. I thrive at dusk, love dawn, feel sunny at midday, but when I am faced with the black outside I feel failure gripping me by the throat.
Let me explain; I love my chosen profession. It’s my love. Nothing feels nicer than writing stories and at the moment I am at them big and large. I wake up feel strong and positive and go through the day in this frame of mind, but come evening and a winter night, I feel like I have failed, that I have always failed, that I will always fail.
What is that? I don’t know.
Being a writer is scary. I have been writing for so many years now. It’s like living in a ditch or on top of a hill. It’s never flowery or fun, it’s always scary and gut-wrenching.
Today I was writing and planning a marketing campaign for myself. All this leaves me utterly dejected. And then the night comes and it’s dark and I feel so alone and utterly useless, as though none of my marketing efforts ever produce fruit (results/money).
Is this what the night terrors are about? Going to bed knowing that nothing I have done today has made a scrap of difference to me, the world, my family, anything?
That must be it. Surely that must it. I need a mentor, an agent, a friend, some literary force for good. This night aloneness is scary, a voice of reason would help.
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