When I was in New York, I pitched my second book to my lit agent. I’ve spent five weeks of putting off completing the pitch because, well, I’m scared shitless. This book is really cool and I really want to read it … which makes me wonder if I’m actually good enough to write it. Nothing worse than ruining a really cool idea with really poor execution, and this book would be a step-up in skill and research and discipline and would necessitate overcoming writerly lazinesses I’ve had since, oh, forever, highlighting my weaknesses. People: scary. I barely managed to eek out a fluffy 60,000 word memoir/wedding handbook for godsake, and now I’m going to step-up and write a culture critique/media studies/pop-soc book?

I’ll spare you the creative back and forthing I’ve done (maybe I’m burnt out and deserve a break between books? maybe now just isn’t the right time. maybe I need to stop pushing so hard) and just say that tonight I sat down to work on my pitch with baby steps and remind myself that the looming terror of research isn’t work — it’s an awesome excuse to talk to cool people about neat shit.

I’m still scared as hell, but I figure if I’m going to fail, I might as well do it spectacularly while writing about a topic I’m passionate about.

UPDATE: I’m fumbling already! Awesome!