My life can be a combination of excuses. Most recently, I realized that I am all out of reasons why I don’t have time to work on my book. This tantalizing manuscript has been collecting dust while taunting me. My excuses have leaned itself toward finding time with no distractions. Seriously, with a home full of fur babies, two boys, and a husband, there are always distractions. Apparently, my excuses are lame. For me, excuses are simply a box of fear. You see, when I finish the book, it will have to be sent to a publisher. What if the publisher hates it? What if my book is published and the readers hate it? The “what ifs” could be the foundation of me never completing anything for fear of failure. The real failure is never trying.
From my making excuses, I am creating a pile of regrets. So, you see that this wicked pattern is creating a prison that will ultimately result in nothingness. My goals and dreams become a victim of excuses. Living my life full of regrets seems a bit unpleasant. I prefer to push through the darkness of uncertainty. Maybe my book stinks. Maybe no one will ever read it, but I will never know if I don’t at least make an effort. Rejection is par for the course as a writer. Actually, rejection is par for the course as a human being, so maybe I just need to recognize that excuses will not get me published. In order to succeed, I must fail. In order to fail, I must try. So, excuses be gone, I have a book to finish.
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