Fear, First Novel, and American Idol

            There is a lot of fear that goes into writing a first novel.  We all pretend it is a fear of rejection.  It’s not.  What truly keeps us up at night is the unknown.  As writers we are bias of our own work much as a mother is to their child.  We spawned our tale from a place that is at once private and venerable, our imagination.  The words we put to paper are memorized.  The characters live in our heads and interact with every facet of our fleshed lives. We cannot be the judge of our own work, no more than a mother can judge the beauty of her offspring and this insights fear. 

Is my writing the best in human history?

Is my writing good?

Is my writing ok?

Are they going to be disgusted?

Will they laugh as they hit send on the form rejection letter?

In the past few days, as I put the final touches on my manuscript, I have wondered these things.  Tonight I am tortured by them even more thanks to American Idol.  No, that is not a typo.  American Idol has forced me question my worth as a writer. 

Everyone’s favorite episodes to watch are the first few, myself included.  These segments draw so many of us in because they feature talentless self-deluded individuals making fools of themselves.  These poor souls have a dream and they are unable or unwilling to hear their inabilities.  Many of them have family waiting in the hallway cheering them on as their hearts are broken, family that no doubt told them they had voices that could make angels envious.  Contestant after contestant lists off the vocal training they have had or musical schools they have attended.  Much as we spend hundreds of hours doing editing and research.

In previous times I would watch a grown man squawk off key dribble and laugh.  Tonight I didn’t.  Tonight I lived vicariously through them as the judges said no, suggested they stick with their day jobs, or giggled behind papers. 

I am about to approach my “American Idol” moment and I may squawk, but better to be off key than to do nothing at all.