Yeah I said it! I would rather shovel horse shit than to sit down and edit Wilson Mooney. Is it my excuse to avoid the thing I want the most? I doubt it. I think it simply might be that I lack the confidence to submit my work to an agent without first paying a copy editor fifteen hundred bones to tell me my past tense and present tense are totally wrong. Or they think the love scenes are too graphic between Wilson and Max for a young adult novel.
So I dig my heels in and pull back on the reins of the horse that gallops to the race only to be told to trot to the starting line. I want to push ahead like the punk ass kid that saves a place in line for their friend, only to say, "I gave him cuts and then he gave me cuts back." But my faithful stallion transforms to a frightened steed that gets spooked by the snake of doubt who has stuck its forked tongue out at me as it slithers its way across my finish line.
Fortunately, I have people in the stands. People that keep cheering even if I win lose or draw. People that keep telling me I have something worth racing for. They are the ones that stand with me, ankle deep in horse shit, shoveling it right along side of me, because they want to see me back up on that horse and winning that race.
It's for them I put down the shovel and pick up the pen.