This piece was written before I went to Dublin for the Hay House Writer’s Workshop at the end of April 2019.
A Hay House writing workshop.
For two days. With 150 other people. Yes, 150 other people.
And world renowned speakers.
When I booked it, I was excited about hearing these people speak.
I am anxious, a little apprehensive.
Not only am I going to this thing on my own, in a country and city that I’ve never been to before but it is also so different for me.
The little voice of fear inside me says:
“What the hell are you doing, Debbie?”
“Why do you think you can write and publish a book? You? That’s laughable.”
“You are not a writer, not a proper writer. I think you are getting way too big for your boots. Who do you think you are?”
“You are joking, right? Ha ha ha. An author, an actual published author. Oh how funny. It’ll never happen.”
There is more where that came from, a virtual diatribe of self-abuse from Mergatroid, who is such a bitch.
If you’ve not come across Mergatroid in my writings before, she is my Inner Critic. I consciously gave her a name about a year ago. I’m pleased I did. It has given her a distinctive personality and its easier to deal with her.
Why do I let her talk to me like that? I would never speak to anyone the way she does to me.
Her voice is not a little voice at all – it’s an imposing, booming, demanding-to-be-heard type of voice. The kind of voice you would associate with a stern Victorian headmistress.
It shovels great heaps of dirt onto the fire of my creativity and passion, stifling the life force out of the flames.
I want to creep back into my comfort zone and stay there.
“Dig deep, Debs, and find that little glowing ember of courage. You’ve got this. Remember last year you wrote that you can do anything you set your mind to?”
This is the self-nurturing, supportive voice that I need to pay attention to.
I need to believe this voice with all my heart and bet big on myself.
This is the time for me to find a small spark of courage to keep that fire alight, even if its a tiny ember for now.
Just enough to get me to Dublin.
Just enough to push me to engage with the workshop.
Just enough to give me hope.
Then maybe the workshop and the experience will fan the flames to re-ignite the passion and give me more courage to carry on.
Another small act of courage for myself is to tell Mergatroid to mind her own business and leave me alone. With all her bitchiness and harsh words, she can f**k off to the Outer Hebrides and bloody well stay there until I need her.
Oh, that feels better.
Mergatroid is such a killjoy.
She brings me down, makes me feel uncertain, doubtful and scared.
But there is another aspect of this book writing endeavour that keeps nagging at me. Why would I have a story that anyone wants to hear? Why is my story even remotely interesting? Hasn’t this all been said before? What is unique about my story?
Will the workshop in Dublin help me to address these criticisms and silence Mergatroid?
I am sure I will find out!