What do I look like to other people?
Physically, am I somewhere between handsome and unappealing? Which side of the spectrum do I lean towards? Am I one of those people that resemble actors in the negative sense that I am an uglier version of these beautiful people?
What about my personality? My intelligence? Maybe I’ve had a mental disorder this whole time that everyone can see but no one dares mention. An inside joke whose punchline is only hidden from me. People might treat me nicely out of politeness. I certainly don’t have a circle of friends, close or otherwise, to shore up my confidence that I am a likable person.
Am I looked down on because I’m an English teacher? Because I still don’t speak Korean as well as the foreigners on TV? Because I am the poster child of an anti-socialite?
Will anyone ever pick up my book in a store? Will they read it and leave positive reviews? Will their daydreams revolve around inserting themselves into the worlds I create? Will they name their pets after my characters? Do I have that secret ingredient that would allow me to be a versatile author who puts on new, genre-busting novels every year?
The truth is that the answer to most of these questions is the same: I don’t have enough room in my brain to care. I’m too busy writing, editing, studying, and reading to worry.
Photo by: William Murphy