My novel, The Chronicles of Durajan, is launched. My website is beautiful, the branding is on point, and the early reviews are a huge encouragement—an Editor's Pick from Publisher's Weekly BookLife feels especially meaningful. I have the interest of a local bookstore, and the foundations of my digital presence feel solid. I've done everything to give my work the best possible start.

And yet, the 3 a.m. doubts still feel like a physical presence beside me.

For thirty years as a creative professional, I navigated a world of creative briefs, planned deliverables, and cause and effect, where pipelines led to tangible, predictable outcomes. But this—this novel, this universe, this path—is nothing like that. It's an act of love, a passion project, a promise I made to myself to build something from the scattered notes and late-night thoughts that could no longer be contained.

I tell myself what I need to hear: people spend more on a tattoo or a car than I have on this dream. It's okay to believe in yourself. It’s a necessary mantra, a shield against the gnawing sense of not knowing. Will people find it? Will the next book do better? Will this all lead to something more?

The vulnerability is real, and for a long time, I couldn't name it. It's not fear, not exactly. It's the absolute sense of not knowing the destination, only the burning drive to keep going. Looking back, the beginning feels distant—a place I could never return to. And looking forward, the endpoint is a beautiful, fog-shrouded mystery. All that remains is the path right in front of me, built one word, one video, one sleepless night at a time.

I wonder if other artists feel this way. The truth is, we are not alone.

As it turns out, the vulnerable artist is a scientifically supported phenomenon. Psychological research into the creative process confirms that what I'm feeling is not only normal but is an essential part of it.

Creativity and vulnerability are deeply intertwined. Creating something new requires emotional vulnerability—risking rejection and exposing a part of yourself to the world. As author and research professor Brené Brown says, "Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity, and change."

The emotional process is complex. The journey is rarely a linear progression of pure joy. Studies show that a mix of emotions, both positive and negative, fuels the creative process. That feeling of anxiety mingling with exhilaration during those late-night sessions is a documented experience. The internal confrontation with doubt is a vital element of the process that unearths deeper truths within an artist's work.

It's a marathon, not a sprint. The creative process for a long-term project is a sustained effort that involves emotional complexity over time. The uncertainty about the market and the need for future books is a natural part of this journey. The path requires patience and the ability to manage a wide range of internal experiences without the promise of a specific outcome.

The creative personality is wired for this. Psychologists have found that artists often have a blend of traits that include heightened emotional sensitivity and openness to experience. This wiring makes artists more susceptible to emotional highs and lows, but it is also the source of the creative fire. My career was transactional; this passion is transformational.

So, yes, this is normal. And while the outcome remains unpromised, there is profound meaning in the attempt. The love I have for this project is the most certain thing on this uncertain path. And that, in itself, is enough.