It’s been interesting. Lots of little accomplishments (my house has reached a level of clean/organized that it hasn’t been in ages), interesting experiences – the Eclipse (it was amazing!!!!!), getting to know my grandson, learning to handle unstructured time, and slogging away on the first book.
That last has been the most challenging. Not the writing – that’s relatively easy.
No, the problem is that I have discovered that I contain massive amounts of insecurities. I doubt that I can write anything worth reading, I worry that I will be a failure at something I deeply and earnestly want to do, and that I will not be able to find an audience that wants to read what I write.
In short, the possibility of being judged, and found wanting, is paralyzing my progress.