One of my biggest insecurities with being a writer is the thought that people outside my work zone (so . . . anyone but my husband and cat) assume that I’m a failure or slowpoke or doddering procrastinating moron.

I’m living what I consider my dream — no day job, plenty of books and video games, and a husband who supports my goals and tells me he’s happy with the way things are and believes in my ability to succeed in time.  A husband who shares my mode of working — heavily productive patches interspersed with slower patches — and doesn’t consider my methods to be drawbacks.

I’ve asked him multiple times, “Are you sure you don’t want me to get a day job?  You don’t resent my lack of income?”  And each time he’s shrugged, shifted his mouse, hit a few keys in rapid succession, said “Yeah,” and watched the monster he’s fighting die.  And then I kiss him on top of his head because he’s awesome.

And, since this is my dream existence, with my cat and my husband and my writing, I don’t insist on creating a problem where one doesn’t exist.  I don’t insist on getting a job if we don’t need the extra money or if Alex has no qualms about letting me focus on my writing.  I sat him down once and let him know that I’ll get a job if we have money problems or if his feelings about my work change, and he nodded as if that seemed sensible and touched my nose so that I said “Ping!” and I went back to playing Warcraft with perfect contentment.

I’ve come to conclude that the only opinions that matter on this front are mine and Alex’s, so I don’t know why I cower sometimes at the thought that others might not understand or approve.  Disapproval in this realm plays on my insecurities that somehow I should be working faster or harder or smarter.  And I get defensive in my head against these imaginary people, and I make all these excuses about how writers are just slow sometimes, that you get published faster if your book is better when you submit it, and, yes, I know I procrastinate, but . . .

Sometimes, I get terrified that someone is going to agree with my worst fears about myself — that I’m lazy or selfish or . . . wrong.  That one day when I’m old, I’ll wake up and find that I lived my whole life off of my husband without contributing anything but love to our life together — that, somehow, I took advantage of him and his faith in me.

That.  That is the reason I will not fail.  I currently have the most amazing life I can imagine, and I will not for one second take it for granted.

I will not imagine Alex is unhappy when he’s not because that would be cruel to both him and myself.  I will not give up on a dream he’s willing to hand me because that would be ungrateful in the extreme.  I will not listen to my own doubts because that would only serve to undermine my confidence in myself and my marriage.

I will not feel guilty for what I have.  I will strive to use it to succeed, use these advantages I never expected and do not deserve.  God gave me this life.  I will not waste it.