Nope, it’s not the waiting. (Although that *may* just be the second worst part of being a writer.)
It’s the imagination.
The most valuable tool for my craft – the thing that lets me invent fantastical plot twists, heartbreaking realistic characters, and killer lines – is also my Kryptonite.
It allows me (nay, FORCES me) to come up with every possible bad turnout to every situation I encounter. (Too much time spent thinking, “how could I make this worse for my MC?”) And once I’ve imagined it, well, then I can’t help but worry any or all of those things might actually happen.
In fact, as you’re reading this, I’ll be sitting in the hospital waiting for Boy #1 to come out of a surgical procedure which I know is very simple, but which my writer’s imagination is already having a field day with…
I’m convinced this is why so many writers struggle with depression and anxiety – our imaginations are in constant overdrive, always telling us what might go wrong next, intent on spinning fantastical tales out of the most mundane situations. Which is great when it comes to plotting out books. Less so when it comes to navigating real life without constantly breaking down…
Right, off to go and try and distract my imagination with some chocolate and a good book. Wish me (and more importantly, Boy #1) good luck.
(Edited to Add: Boy #1 came out of the surgery smiling. He’s already downed four banana popsicles and we’re home resting now.)