I feel like Théoden in lotr before the battle of helms deep. i'm looking down over all the uruk hai, and each one is a challenge i have to slay in order to withstand being a writer. They're innumerable. unquantifiable.

finish the next draft
edit it
seek feedback
repeat ad infinitum

Send out a query. Get rejected until I find an agent for representation. Plan the next newsletter. Plan the next book. the next chapter. fuck, the next page. push the book to sell. it never ends. its wave after wave of endless uruk hai throwing themselves against the walls of my mind. they aren't just the multiplying number of tasks i have to accomplish. they're the voices in my head.

i'm stupid for wanting this. i'm romanticizing and idealizing. starting late? might as well forget it today. why am i starting from zero again, with a new name with a newsletter and a blog that very few know of?

Under my old name, my actual name, I've got five books out there. 2 sci-fi, 3 fantasy. over a thousand followers on X. people have written me and told me they loved my book. i've spoken to students at a nearby high school. i've developed a level of credibility, but i'm throwing that all away. why?

To separate myself from my writing. to put that wall between my mind and that swarm. to start from scratch, no bumpers, guardrails, no help, to finally convince myself that I deserve this. that i earned it.

Writing is not the purpose of my life.
Its my expression of what I know of it.

it's daunting. overwhelming. but i'm going to build back better and make myself great again. i know the steps to take. I've done it before, i'll do it again. better, this time. the last 10 years were not a waste. they were the refinement of my skills and knowledge.

So it begins.

~J.R. Warden