I’ve been writing since I was 11 or 12.  It was an escape from an otherwise, tumultous, abusive and horrendous childhood.

  Writing helped me.  It transported me to places in my mind and took away the pain of my life’s position. 

 At 17, I won a writing contest, well, 3rd place anyway.  It was the first affirmation of my writing, I ever got.  The taste for authorship has never left me, even at 43.

  It has become a goal that is hard to give up on.  Fortunately, human beings are equipped to write long into their lives as long as they have all their faculties about them. 

 Today I have some chapters of a book written. 

 It’s about a man who has 6 months to live.  The man is forced to confront issues in his life that are regrettable at best, because of a woman who feels it is her mission to help him redeem himself in what little time he has left on the earth.  Needless to say, All the man wants to do is revel in what little time he has on earth, in peace.  There are 2 huge twists in this book, that I can’t reveal.  The two main characters get into some pretty impossible situations.  It’s not a boring book.  It has an awesome setting. 

Whenever I read what I have written already, I get so excited.  It reads pretty good, although the characters are not all developed into their own personas yet.

  What I am struggling with now, is a big pet peeve of mine, wasting time.

  I feel if I finish this book and someone. or a whole bunch of someones, ultimately deems my work imperfect for printing, will I have spent months writing for nothing? 

I would hate it if that would happen. 

It would be like those people who built their homes too close to the cliff  only to have a mudslide swoop it over the edge and destroy their dream

  I’m not dealing well with the possibility of that happening to my book. 

 Can anyone out there who writes, relate to this?