I think about quitting sometimes. No, really, it’s true. I have these heavy waves of self-doubt that wash over me and make me think I’ll never be quite good enough and make me wonder why I even bother trying.

And in those moments of doubt, I tell myself it’s not a big deal. That it won’t matter if no one ever reads one of my stories again except for me. That I’m creating for myself and no one else and who cares what the rest of the world thinks? And I tell myself that would make me happy. Or at least it would be less frustrating than not being perfect. Or maybe it wouldn’t be so great…

…and then I realize that it wouldn’t make me happy. That if I gave up on my writing I would always wonder if I could have done better. I would always regret that decision and would consider going back on a regular basis.

I don’t want that. I don’t want to always wonder what would have been if I’d only tried. At least this way I know. I know I tried, I know I didn’t give up, I know my odds of making it further each time are infinitely higher than if I didn’t try at all.

When I remember all of that, I can’t give up. I can’t walk away from writing and I can’t abandon my dream of being a published novelist. Because the regret and the ‘what ifs’ would weigh so much more heavily on me than the stress of rejection and rewrites. Besides, the sting of a rejection or a bad critique fades with time. Giving up and never going back is forever.

How do you push through the fear and doubt?