Two things you need to know in order to fully understand this blog post.
Thing 1.) I currently have two full manuscripts out with editors. I know the lecture: put them out of your mind and work on something else. Yeah, right. Like I’m going to forget they’re out there. I am working on other things, but the back left corner of my brain still obsesses about those manuscripts daily.
Thing 2.) I’m totally addicted to the TV show So You Think You Can Dance. I’m obsessed; I TiVo all the episodes so I can watch them again and again. I’ve never watched any kind of reality show before, but I’ve even VOTED for folks on SYTYCD.
Okay, with that knowledge, let’s continue.
I had a dream the other night. I was a contestant on SYTYCD. I was out in LA, living with the dancers, going to rehearsals, the whole shebang. EXCEPT, I was never allowed to dance on TV. Everyone else danced on TV, but not me. Finally, one of the judges pulls me aside (Mary Murphy, in fact) and asks me, “Aren’t you wondering why you’re never on TV?” I mutter something about understudying, how I figured they’d let me know, etc, while inside I’m saying “hell yeah, I wanna know why I’m busting my butt yet I'm not allowed on TV.”
Mary tells me, “It’s because you’re not supposed to be here. You’re a mistake. We’re not sure how you slipped through the cracks, or who screwed up, but you were never supposed to be here. You’re not good enough. We hoped that if we just ignored you, eventually you’d get mad and go away. But obviously you haven’t taken the hint.”
All the other dancers are looking at me with this amused pity on their faces. A “bless-her-heart-she-thought-she-was-as-good-as-us” look, because they’d known all along that I didn’t belong there. I was hurt and mortified, but thankfully, I woke up at that point.
Now, does anyone really need to contact Counselor Shelley for an analysis of this particular dream?
Down, Playfriends. There’s no need to go into Support Mode. I’m not looking for ego bolstering. It was only my subconscious working out fear and insecurity, blah, blah, blah.
I think we’re all afraid that one day, someone’s going to come up to us and say, “Honey, you just aren’t good enough. Go find another hobby.” (Hopefully, it won’t be in public in front of the ones who *are* good enough.) I’m afraid some editor is looking at my manuscript and saying, “Was I on crack the day I requested this?”
I wish I knew how to make that little doubting voice in the back of my head shut the hell up. I just have to tell myself (in a louder voice), “Self, you don’t suck.” When that little doubting voice asks me, “So you think you can write?” the only thing I can say is “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”