I'm reading this book:
Taming Your Gremlin by Rick Carson.
My gremlin is big and clever and relentless. I'm not sure she can be tamed.
Ironically, she's not barking at me much about the audiobook narration. She's given up on that because she knows I'm feeling capable in that department.
But she's focused all her attention on my idea of myself as a writer. She's almost had me convinced that I'm not one.
However, a friend just wrote me about how much her 13-year-old loved Dreaming of Deliverance. It even inspired him to draw a scene from the novel. My first fan art.
I told my friend about Forbidden Fruit and said her son might like it, and then I read a little bit of it and remembered: I'm a good writer. I tell good stories.
That stupid gremlin: my viscous, constant, uber-critical inner voice, had me forgetting.
I will tame my gremlin. I will return to Trae. Finish the rat book.
I'm a writer.