Betsy Horvath

Category: The Quest

  • Head Above Water

    When last we left Betsy, she had just sent her most recent book off to the editor and first readers for editing and first reading, respectively.  For those of you who care, this means Betsy’s scheduling and timing are for crap, since those tasks really should be done in order, as opposed to simultaneously.  Which means Betsy will have a heck of a mess on her hands when she tries to sort it all out later.

    But is that not the story of Betsy’s life?

    Yes. Yes, it is.

    In addition to the whole writing thing, and the delays, and the way Betsy is now rushing, rushing, rushing to finish things she should have finished months ago, other stressful incidents occur and keep occurring.

    This, too, is part of life, although in that case it is not unique to Betsy’s.

    It still can be a little overwhelming, though.

    As we open this post, we see the Muse, strolling gracefully through a sunlit meadow towards a deep lake in the center of Betsy’s mind.  Sometimes the waters of the lake are placid, but today they are choppy, and we can soon see why.  Betsy is out in the lake, her arms and legs churning wildly in the water as she struggles to stay afloat.

    What in the world is going on now?  Let’s see…

     

    *Muse walks up the edge of the lake* *Considers Betsy from the shore*  *Ducks to avoid wildly splashing water*  Why are you flailing?

    *Betsy churns arms and legs*  *Struggles to stay afloat*  I’m just trying to keep my head above water.

    Why?

    Why?  Why?  *Betsy flails* Because so much is going on!

    *Muse settles on the shore a safe distance away* Like what?

    You know.  Other people are reading my book.  And then I’ll have to do all of the work to clean it up.  And then I’ll have to publish it.  And then more people will read it!  There’s so much work to do, so much time to spend, and who knows whether it will all work out?  Who knows if I’ll be able to meet my deadline this time when I’ve missed so many of them before?  Who knows what other people are going to think?  Who knows what they’re going to say? *Betsy splashes*

    *Muse draws up her legs under her long, flowing skirt and rests her chin on her knees*   Then why publish?  You certainly don’t have to.

    Because if I don’t publish, the book won’t be completely done.  What’s the point of telling a story if you don’t share it with anyone else?

    Then why splash?

    Because it’s not perfect!  It will never be perfect!  I can’t make it perfect!  I’m screwing it all up!  *Betsy flails and churns*

    *Muse considers her*  I’m pretty sure these sorts of things aren’t supposed to be perfect.

    What if I’m a failure?  What if I’ve wasted my time?  What if I’m wasting my life? *splash, splash, splash*

    Do you really feel that way?

    Yes!  *Betsy splashes*  *Flailing slows*  No.  I guess I don’t really feel that way.

    Well, that’s something anyway.

    Maybe I’m afraid.

    Maybe you are.  *Muse nods agreeably*

    But that makes me flail even more because I don’t want the fear to win because the fear is stupid.  So I’m trying to push myself through.

    *Muse tilts her head*  I can’t help but notice that at the moment you’re flailing, not pushing.  And the stress isn’t doing your blood sugar numbers any favors.

    I know, I know.  But there have been a lot of reasons for stress lately.

    *a floofy orange cat comes to sit next to the Muse on the shore* *watches Betsy with big green eyes*

    And I  know if I can just push through this, push through the fear, push through the doubt, push through everything and keep on going, I’ll have another book done and it will be its own thing and I’ll be working on the next and I won’t be as stressed.  So I keep pushing.

    True.  *Muse pets the cat*  On the other hand, is there any point to flailing around now?  If you already know it will be all right later, if you know you’re going to push through the publication process and the book will be out and some people will like it and some people will not like it and most people won’t give a damn about it one way or the other, is there any reason why you should get yourself all worked up splashing around in the lake and churning up the water?

    No.  But the water is so deep right now that I feel like I have to.

    Or you could, you know, just stop and see what happens.

    I can’t stop!  I’ll drown!  You have to rescue me! *Betsy flails some more*

    I’m kind of thinking this one’s on you.

    I’m feeling overwhelmed.

    *Muse shrugs*  How about you just try stopping and see what happens.

    Just like that?

    At least try standing up.

    My feet can’t touch the bottom!  They can’t touch the bottom!  I’m going under!

    Sure about that?

    Why, yes, of course I’m—  *Betsy’s eyes widen*  Wait, what?  *She stands*  *The water in the lake laps back and forth for a moment, then settles around her ankles*  Huh.

    Just remember—sometimes the lake seems a little deeper than it actually is.  Now, how about we go back to work on the new novella?  And Harry’s waiting to talk to you about some publishing things.

    Oh.  Okay.  *Betsy walks to shore* *pets the cat*  *follows Muse back across the meadow*

     

    To be continued…

     

     

     

  • Putting Coffee In The Friendzone

    As we join Betsy, she is sitting behind her desk in her office in her brain, waiting. She’s known that she needed to have this conversation for weeks, but she kept putting it off, hoping against hope she wouldn’t have to go there. After all, how can she friendzone someone she loves so very much? How can she walk away from him? How can she intentionally distance herself from him? Her heart feels heavy in her chest.

    On the other hand, her heart is also beating pretty rapidly. Which isn’t exactly…good. And she can’t seem to settle. In fact, she’s fidgeting restlessly in her chair and her mind is racing. Maybe she shouldn’t have spent so much time with her loved one earlier that morning.

    She fiddles with some papers on her desk, her knee bouncing. She tries to calm that leg and the other one starts.

    Yes, this conversation is definitely overdue.

    Let’s see what happens…

     

    The door to Betsy’s office opens and Coffee, the Beverage of Champions, strolls into the room.

    “Ah, my dear. It iz zo good to see you, n’est pas?” Coffee smirks, confident of his welcome.

    “Thanks for coming,” Betsy says, her whole body starting to jitter in his presence. “Um, nice French Roast accent.”

    “Zank you.” Reaching behind his back, he pulls out a mug. “Shall I pour?”

    “No.”

    Coffee pauses and bubbles a bit.

    “No?” For the first time, there is uncertainty in his deep brown gaze.  “But I brought the half-and-half.”

    “No.” Betsy grips her desk. She needs to be strong. But, oh, the temptation. The scent of him, the strength of him… No! She won’t think about that now!

    “Please sit down. I need to talk to you.”

    “Oh. Okay.” The accent gone, Coffee sloshes on the edge of the visitor’s chair. “What’s up?”

    Betsy fiddles with the papers again. “Um, I, uh, think we…geez this hard.”

    “What’s hard?” Coffee looks even more puzzled.

    Betsy draws in a deep breath. Draws in the enticing aroma of him.

    “I think we need to back off,” she says quickly before she loses her nerve. “I don’t think we should be so intense anymore.  I think we should be…friends.”

    Coffee blinks wide, dark eyes. “Excuse me?”

    “It’s not you, it’s me. It’s totally me.”

    “But we’ve been spending so much time together lately.” Coffee sounds confused. “Long lazy mornings. Dawdling together all through the day. I’ve been with you every moment, your constant companion. We’re closer than we’ve ever been.”

    “I know.” Betsy reaches across the desk to him, then pulls back her hand and drops it to her side. She looks away. “It’s too much, Coffee. Just too much.”

    “But—”

    “You’re more than I can handle, Coffee. You overwhelm me. I can’t sleep. My stomach hurts. And my blood sugar—”

    Coffee smiles. “But you’ve talked like this before. Lots of times. And you always come back.”

    “I know.”

    “It’s because we’re meant to be together.”

    “No.” Betsy reaches for him again. Again, she draws back her hand. “I love you, but no.”

    “No.” Coffee scowls. “What do you mean, no?”

    “I mean no! I’m not saying we’ll never see each other. I want to be friends. Pals. I still want to hang out with you. But we can’t be exclusive anymore. We just… can’t.”

    Coffee percolates ominously. “You’re dropping me?”

    “No!” Betsy pleads with him to understand. “Of course not. How can I? We’ll still have the mornings. A hot cup…”

    “Or two?” Coffee asks hopefully.

    “Maybe.” Betsy concedes. “But no more than that! I mean it. I’m going spend more time with Decaf. Or, maybe even Herbal Tea, even though it tends to taste like grass. But I want to get to know both of them better.”

    “Herbal tea?” Coffee looks disgusted. “Decaf? Those are just poor substitutions for what you really want, baby.”

    “I know.” Betsy wipes her tear-filled eyes. “But I have to try. You…you’re too strong. You take over and…I need to make my way by myself without heart palpitations and insomnia.”

    Coffee thinks. “Well, I don’t know my own strength sometimes,” he admits. “We’ll still hang out?”

    “Yes.”

    “And you’ll still come to me when you’ve got problems?”

    “Oh, I’m sure I will.”

    Coffee is silent for another moment. Then shrugs. “Okay.”

    “Good.” Betsy settles back with a sigh.

    “Right.” Coffee smiles. It’s just a little evil. “Tell you what.  Let’s drink to it.”

    Uh oh…

     

    To be continued…

     

     

  • I Get Knocked Down, I Get Up Again

    When last we heard from Betsy, she was sounding very determined.  And then she vanished from the face of the earth for several weeks.  If you know anything about Betsy, you know that this is definitely not a good sign.  Why it’s almost as if she was trying to ignore flaws and cracks and crevices that were widening and becoming catastrophic and then it all exploded in her face!

    Uh oh.  We’d better see what’s going on….

     

    Betsy is sitting in the soft grass beside the lake in her mind. The wind is blowing gently. Everything is saturated with color and seems to be more in focus than it has been as of late.

    She leans back on her hands, looking at the range of mountains in the distance, the field of grass, the leaves on the trees rustling gently in the warm breeze. The sun is full and bright, the grass and leaves dark green with life, the lake deep blue and peaceful. Even a week ago, the landscape was gray and intangible. Even a week ago, everything was transparent, like the thinnest of papers.  Like a ghost.

    Like Betsy.

    She feels the softness of the ground beneath her palms, feels the weight of her spirit and her body. Even a week ago, everything was insubstantial.

    She looks at the lake, sees the depths of the blue water, the way it laps the shore. The surface is calm, with just a few ripples. Even a week ago, the lake was almost empty, and what water remained was muddy and agitated.

    “You’re back.”

    Betsy looks up to see the Muse standing beside her. The Muse looks out at the grass, the trees, the lake, and then turns to Betsy and considers her.

    “I feel better,” Betsy tells her.

    “Good.” The Muse sits next to her, gracefully tucks her legs up under the folds of her gown. “Do you understand what happened?”

    “I became disheartened.” Betsy straightens. “I did my taxes and saw the expenses and the income. I thought about how little I had accomplished and was accomplishing. I started second-guessing myself and my decisions. And I became disheartened.”

    “Sometimes you have to keep moving even when you are not seeing the results.”

    Betsy looks down. “It’s hard.”

    The Muse shrugs. “Of course. Who said it wouldn’t be? Who said that something worthwhile wouldn’t be a struggle?”

    “I know.” Betsy sighs and pulls out a blade of grass, twirling it in her fingers. “But it’s hard sometimes and I was disheartened.”

    “You almost quit. You were right on the verge of changing everything.”

    “I wasn’t writing. I said that I was dedicated to it, but I didn’t feel like I had any creativity inside me. There was nothing inside me. So why not quit? Why keep struggling? Why keep giving it lip service? Why not get a regular second job to pay off debt, save for the future, do the things we’re all supposed to do? That would have been smarter, definitely more logical. Why keep wasting my time?”

    The Muse nods. “And then…”

    Betsy gestures around her. “Everything went gray and lifeless. I felt like I was transparent, just a dead leaf tumbling in the wind. And I thought that I shouldn’t quit if this was the way I was going to feel because it was horrible.”

    The Muse settles back. “But you’re writing now. You’re making headway now. Did the creativity come back when you made the decision to keep going?”

    “It wasn’t that easy. At first, I had decided not to quit, but I couldn’t actually write either.  There still wasn’t any creativity inside me. So I looked at some other things I could do first. I started changing the way I’ve been eating so it would be better for my diabetes. Then I tried to go to bed earlier to get more sleep, and to get up with the alarm so I could take control of my mornings. All of that gave me the groundwork I needed to be able to write again. Once I started writing, I finally felt like myself.”

    “And what have you learned?”

    Betsy thinks for a moment. “That the right food and the right sleep and the right motivation are just as important as sitting at the computer because that’s what the creativity is built on.”

    “Go on.”

    “And that you have to have faith. Faith that it will work out. Faith that it’s worth it. Faith that you’re doing the right thing. Faith even when you are being given an opportunity to doubt yourself. Because if you lose faith in what you’re doing, you lose everything. I had been losing it for a while, and the last couple of weeks were just the result.”

    The Muse leans forward and takes Betsy’s hand. “And I will tell you something else. You have to throw away your timelines. There are no expiration dates on your dreams as long as you are alive and willing to fight for them. But you do have to fight sometimes.”

    Betsy looks at the Muse and grips her hand. “And sometimes it’s hard.”

    The Muse nods. “Sometimes it is. But no one ever said it wouldn’t be.”

     

    To be continued…

    Author’s note – the song in the youtube clip below probably doesn’t have the slightest thing to do with this blog post, but it kept running around in my head as I wrote this, so I thought I’d share the earworm.  You’re welcome.  😀

    [tube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2H5uWRjFsGc[/tube]

  • The Search For A Blog Post

    Once Upon A Time, not so very long ago (this afternoon, in fact), there was a girl named Betsy who was sitting in front of her computer desperately seeking a blog post.

    Betsy strove mightily to put out a blog post at least once a week. But, alas, The Sickness had descended upon her and hit her and knocked her asunder for several weeks and so she flaileth.

    And, lo, The Sickness had been a mighty and terrible foe, but Betsy had at last fought it into a corner and was now struggling to pick up her life again.  Verily, she hath determined that she would in no way sink into a sea of snot and lethargy.

    However, despite flailing mightily, this afternoon Betsy could find no blog to post. She rifled through the dim recesses of her mind, and yet could not chase a blog post from the thickets. She searched the air, and could not see a blog post flying overhead. She searched the depths of the wine-dark sea, and saw many creatures, but no blog post. Or at least, not a blog post that was obvious and easy to catch.

    “Alas!” she cried, wrist to forehead, head flung back, “Whatever shall I do? If I do not have a blog post by this eve, I shall skip yet another week and will wake up in the morning feeling hatred towards myself and my poor uncreative mind!”

    “Thou must not hateth thyself when a blog post dost not come, for lo, many blog posts hath come before, and many more will come in the future. Another will appear. Sometimes that is just the way things goeth.”

    Startled, Betsy looked to her left and saw a large white rabbit dressed in the jaunty costume of a minstrel. His tri-cornered hat was decked with bells that jingled, and he was carrying a tambourine with ribbons upon it.

    “Good day, sir,” she said. “I know you, do I not?”

    “You do,” the rabbit affirmed. “For I am Sir Harold the Wise.”

    “Sir Harold?” Betsy frowned, her mind much confused. “Art thou not the Guide on my Quest to become a successful independent author?”

    “I art,” the rabbit nodded. “But just as Alice followed a White Rabbit to find Wonderland, I will also lead you to many strange places.”

    “You wilt?” Betsy clapped her hands together in glee. “And wilt thou help me to find a blog post for this eventide? For, lo, I have searched everywhere within my brain and without, but one does not appear. At least, not one that is obvious and easy to catch.”

    Sir Harold shook his tambourine. “T’would be my pleasure, my lady!”

    “Such awesomeness wouldst be much appreciated!”

    Together the two sat at the computer looking through files. Then they wandered into Betsy’s mind, as Sir Harold was much familiar with the landscape.  They searched the fields and woodlands. Finally, they dove into the deep lake at the center of Betsy’s mind to see what they could see.

    But, lo, although they saw many fine visions and ferocious creatures and a few things that really cannot be spoken of aloud, they did not see a blog post. Or at least they did not see a blog post obvious and easy to catch.

    At last, winded and burdened, they returned to the computer.

    “Alas, I see nary a blog post!” Betsy cried. “Whatever shall I do, Sir Harold? I must needs give up!”

    And Sir Harold raised a finger and looked exceedingly stern. “Just because a blog post is not obvious and easy to catch dost not mean it is not there. Thou must not quit. Quitters never win, and winners never quit.”

    Betsy pouted and crossed her arms. “So sayest thou.”

    “Indeed I do, my lady!” Sir Harold shook his tambourine again. “Dost thou have any thoughts at all? If so, please tell me what they are.”

    Betsy frowned. “Mayhap I should write about excuses and how I have so many of them? Or how I have anger, or, indeed, feelings of woe towards my own poor person? In truth, I have many feelings that I do not express.”

    “That I doubt, my lady.” Now Sir Harold shook his head, making the bells on his hat ring. “And, lo, thou didst just complain last week. More would be whining.”

    “True.” Betsy thought. “Mayhap I should write about my feline companions and the roundworms that do not go away?”

    “Nay, for I fear many will not care for such a subject.”

    “True.” Betsy thought and then snapped her fingers. “Ah hah!” she exclaimed.

    “What seest thou?” Sir Harold demanded.

    “I shall write about this adventure, my friend!” Betsy told him. “I shall write about my search for a blog post and how I did not find one, and how you came to help, and how we did not find one.”

    Sir Harold thought and nodded. “Mayhap t’would be best. But what will be the moral of the story? For even a lowly blog post must have some kind of a point.”

    Betsy smiled upon him and opened a blank page on her computer. “That even when you think you have not found something, oft times you have. It’s just that you do not know that you have found it and so you walk away.”

    “And that a blog post can be whatever you want it to be, even if it is, in the end, about nothing,” Sir Harold added.

    And Betsy doth smile.

    “Indeed, Sir Harold. Indeed.”

     

  • Writing Everything Down

    As we all know, Betsy is flailing around like a sock puppet trying to be a successful independent author / publisher. That’s not new. But now she has goals AND a production schedule. She seems to actually be interested in taking her game to the next level.

    However, Skipper, a chipmunk who is a Habit Implementation Specialist sent by the Muse Council to help Betsy develop and meet her goals, has asked Betsy to come see her in her office in Betsy’s brain. Whatever can she want? Isn’t she satisfied with the progress Betsy’s making?

    Let’s see….

     

     

    *Betsy walks into Skipper’s office* *throws herself down on the sofa across from Skipper’s desk*

    Whaaaaaaat?

    *Skipper looks up from the paperwork she’s been perusing* You’re here! Awesome! We need to talk.

    *Betsy flops back on the sofa and closes her eyes*

    Whhhyyyyy? I’m doing what you want me to do. I’ve got goals and a production schedule and everything.

    Yes. *Skipper shoves the papers aside and hops up on her desk* *Strikes cheerleading pose* But there’s still room for improvement!

    Oh, come on! *Betsy arches her back and stomps her feet against the cushion* I’m doing good!

    *Skipper considers her and settles onto her haunches* No you’re not. You’re wasting time.

    *Betsy settles back down* I am not. *She sounds uncertain*

    Right. *Skipper looks at Betsy with her big, dark eyes* How much time have you spent on social media or email in these last few weeks? How often have you checked your KDP dashboard or your Amazon rankings? Sound familiar?

    Maybe I get on the Internet a little bit. Now and then. *Betsy sits up and picks at a thread on the sofa cushion* *Mutters* I have a stupid production schedule.

    *Skipper sits and folds her little paws on her little knee* Do you actually want to hit it?

    *Betsy sticks out her bottom lip*  Yesssss.

    Then it’s not good enough for you to just HAVE a production schedule and goals. You need to work towards them consistently. And that means you can’t waste all of your time.

    *Betsy’s pout deepens* I sit down at the computer. I sit down every day. And I make time to write, too!

    *Skipper cocks her head* And do you write?

    *Betsy picks at the thread* *Mutters* Sometimes.

    Sometimes. And sometimes you don’t do anything but surf the web. You’re making the time, but you’re also getting pulled down rabbit holes into unproductive paths.

    *Betsy scowls at her* Okay, fine. Yes. I surf the web sometimes. But I’m writing, too. So, what does it matter? I’m getting things done.

    It matters because you might be able to work more efficiently and maybe even hit that production schedule you’re so proud of making. But first, you have to see what you’re really doing.

    *Betsy’s scowl deepens* How am I supposed to do that?

    *Skipper smiles* You need to write everything down and track it.

    *Betsy gapes at her* Everything? You mean EVERYTHING everything?

    *Skipper nods* Everything. When do you sit down to write? How much time are you spending? How many words are you writing in that time? What are you writing? Your fiction? A blog post? Everything.

    Oh, good gravy! *Betsy jumps to her feet and flails her arms* I can’t do all of that!

    Yes, you can! *Skipper pumps both paws in the air*  And you need to write down that production schedule and post on your refrigerator, not squirrel, excuse the expression, it away in a notebook somewhere.

    *Betsy puts her hands to her head* That’s so much!

    But wait, there’s more! You also have to write out a task list to tell you the things you need to do that are not connected with the actual writing.

    *Betsy’s face crumples* But whyyyyyyyy?

    Because. You need to shine a light on your process and make it solid. You need to find out what’s really going on and keep it in your mind. You need to know what needs to be done and when you need to do it. That’s the only way we’ll be able to make things better.

    *Betsy crosses her arms and stomps her foot* I hate you.

    No, you don’t. And this is important. Writing everything down makes you aware of what you’re really doing, what you need to do, and by when. Not just what you imagine is happening. It will be a first step we can build on.

    *Betsy gapes* There will be more?

    Yes! Yes! *Skipper’s patience is fraying* Do you want to do this thing or don’t you?

    *Betsy drops her head and scuffs her foot on the floor* *Bottom lip is protruding to a dangerous degree* *Mutters*
    I want to do it. It’s just that it’s such a paaaiiiiinnn to do all of this work.

    *Skipper sighs* We have to know. For example, are you writing more in the morning or the evening?

    I write more in the morning.

    *Skipper holds up a paw* No, you WANT to write more in the morning. But how much are you ACTUALLY writing in the morning?

    *Betsy frowns* I sit at the computer in the morning.

    *Skipper puts her paws to her head and tears out a little fur* Oh, for heaven’s sakes. Do me a favor and just fill in a darned spreadsheet, would you? If you want to write in the mornings, and you’re not writing in the mornings, then we need to change things up so you DO write in the mornings.

    *Betsy shuffles her feet* Okaaaaay.

    And don’t forget the production schedule and the task list. Track everything. Because you can’t tell what you need to change until you see it.

    *Betsy pouts* And I really have to do all of this?

    *Skipper shrugs* Only if you want to get better.

    I want to get better.

    Well?

    *Betsy sighs* Okay.

     

    To be continued…

  • The Importance Of Believing

    If you’ve read the last blog post, you know that Betsy was recently wracked with doubt, uncertainty and fear – helped along by the Dark Voice that whispers through her brain.  She did manage to vanquish her foe, but it was a near thing.

    Now Harry, Betsy’s Guide on her Quest, and a white rabbit, has asked her to meet with him for some reason.  The last time we saw Harry he was suffering from his own challenges.  Whatever does he want now?  And will he and Betsy feed each other’s insecurities or help to overcome them?

    Let’s see…

     

    *Betsy enters Harry’s office* *Walks across meadow that has taken the place of the furniture that used to be there* *sits in the grass next to Harry’s burrow* *Picks up a blade of grass and twirls it in her fingers*

    Hey, doll. *Harry hops out of burrow and settles beside her* *Leans back on his two paws and crosses his big feet in front of him*

    Hi, Harry. *Betsy focuses on the grass* You wanted to see me?

    Yeah, I wanded to check in wif you and see how you’re doin’

    Wif?

    Thupid teef. Thill getting used to fem. Wait. *Harry concentrates* Is this better?

    *Betsy stares at him* Why can I hear you inside my head?

    Technically we’re always inside your head.

    Oh. Good point.

    I’m just focusing my new rabbit mojo on you. Cool huh?

    Aces. But why did you want to see me?

    I wanted to check on you after that intense session you had last blog post with the Dark Voice.

    Voices. I’m pretty sure there were more than one.

    I think you’re right. Doubt, fear, and insecurity. The big three. *Harry shakes his head* They get me every time.

    *Betsy frowns at him* That reminds me. How are you anyway?

    *Harry shrugs* Better.

    Yeah. Me too.

    Good.

    *Betsy looks at the blade of grass* *Spins it in her fingers* So, if you don’t mind me asking, where were you when the Dark Voice came? Aren’t you supposed to have my back at times like that? Doing the whole Guiding thing?

    *Harry sighs* *Sits upright* Some things you’ve got to go through alone. You’ve got to make your own decisions. It was hard to watch, but it wouldn’t have been good for you if I interfered.

    Oh. *Betsy shifts* *Throws away the blade of grass* Do you know why the Voice came back? Everything’s been going so well for the last couple of weeks.

    *Harry shakes his rabbit ears* But that’s the way it works, right? It does for me, anyway. You’re trucking right along singing a happy tune, minding your own business, and bam! The doubts and fears and insecurities creep up on you and jump you. If you’re not careful, they can take you down like a pack of hyenas.

    *Betsy looks away* That’s what happened.

    *Harry moves closer* But then you were able to pull yourself back up.

    Because I reminded myself that I have to believe.

    You do. *Harry nods* Believing is actually the most important thing. You have to believe. If you don’t, who will?

    *Betsy frowns* Well, you will.

    Yeah, but who believes in me?

    *Betsy’s frown deepens* I do.

    And here I am. *Harry beams at her* 

    *Betsy shakes her head* You confuse me.

    The point is, you have to keep reminding yourself that it doesn’t matter what things look like now.  You ARE a writer. You ARE building the foundation for the future. You ARE doing the behind the scenes work that’s necessary.

    *Betsy nods* And I have to believe that it’s possible. That this whole thing is possible. I guess that’s really what I have to have faith in – the possibility.

    *Harry thumps a hind foot* Right. If you don’t believe it, if you doubt what you’re doing, if you think you’re stupid for doing it, then you’ll stop, and the Dark Voice will win, and you’ll end up watching television and eating inappropriately.

    *Betsy crosses her legs and leans forward* Is that what you’re doing? Are you believing?

    *Harry’s quiet for a minute* I’m trying. I’m trying to believe that I can be a good White Rabbit Guide, even when it doesn’t seem like it’s true.

    *Betsy thinks* And I’m trying to believe that I can be a good writer, even when it seems like a total lie.

    *Harry settles back on haunches* Exactly.

    *Betsy frowns* It’s crazy, but I can actually feel a…a switch flip in my head when I start to doubt and second-guess myself. It’s almost like I’m walking through a door.

    *Harry points a paw at her* That’s when you have to say, “You CAN do it. You ARE doing it. Nobody else may know you’re doing it, but you know.”

    I say that, and I focus on believing again. I have to believe that this enterprise is valid and worthwhile. Then I walk back through the door again.  I keep thinking there’s a path and I’m on it. I might not see it now, but it’s there.

    *Harry smacks Betsy on the shoulder* Babe, you and I are walking in the dark with a freaking flashlight. And we are believing that when the sun comes up, we’ll see that we’ve been on a road.

    *Betsy nods* That’s right. We can’t see it now, but we will.

    But the road…well, it’s your road. Nobody can see it for you. We’re only ever given our own road, you know? Other people may never know it’s there.

    *Betsy thinks* So I have to ignore what’s going on around me and focus on believing in the road.

    *Harry smacks her again* Absolutely right. *Studies her* So, you’re not gonna run?

    *Betsy crosses her arms and scowls* No. I’m going to keep going and try not to doubt.

    And when the doubt comes back no matter what you do?

    Then I’m going to keep telling myself, “You can do this. You ARE doing this. Push forward in the darkness.”

    *Harry nods and leans back* That’s what I’m going to do too. I guess that’s the most anybody can do.

     

    To be continued