Terror

I've been making notes and researching heavily over the last couple of weeks, sidling toward the New Project as if I didn't want to scare it. In fact, it occured to me this morning that in sneaking up on my writing I'm trying not to scare myself. I recognize this fear: I've had it--in some form or another--every time I've started a new project (except with my first book, where I was writing entirely for myself, and was just lucky enough to sell the damned thing). A familiarity with the setting may reduce my anxiety somewhat--I know New York, for example, and I know a lot about Regency England at this point--but until I finish a first draft of a story or a book I don't entirely believe that I can finish it. So I dance around. I do research (and I need to do research, which makes it such a compelling excuse) and I get distracted with school functions and visitors. My experience is that sooner or later I'm going to get well into this book and it will sing along. But until that point, I will be in the grip of Writer's Terror, and I will have no faith that this time I'll get past it. I soldier on and try, as janni points out, to remember joy.