My first big dream was to not only to own a horse, but to go racing across open fields. There were always a lot of really, big fallen trees in this fantasy and my horse would leap them all with ease. All the books I read said jumping horses felt like flying and that's what I imagined. Freedom and flying. As so often is the case, the reality was not remotely close to the dream. Staying on a horse at anything faster than a walk requires a lot of balance. And unlike a car, the horse had a mind of it's own. In the beginning it rarely went where I wanted it to. And most shocking of all was the fear. I'm a worry wort by nature and so every time I mounted a horse, I was overcome with fear. I was determined to jump though. After years of practice,I did. Nothing so grand as the obstycle in the picture. Nope. A little ple 18 It turned out to be less a feeling of flying and more controlling terror long enough to get over the obstacle. And when I couldn't do that, the horse was more than kind enough to stop and put his head down so I could go sailing over the jump on my own. Ow.
What does this have to do with writing? The reality of writing and the fantasy of being a writer are two different things and when you fall off, you got to get back on.