For anyone who’s new here, *waves* hi! Thanks for giving me and my ramblings a chance. If you’re not ‘in the know’ yet, I’m going to fill you in on some important information. I’m fascinated with all manner of religion and mythology.

Loki isn’t the only god who’s caught my attention over the years. I’ve researched a lot of them to put my Apathy’s Hero universe together. Kali is one of my favorites. Janus is another. I don’t give him as much screen-time as I should, but today he gets to be in the spotlight.

Wikipedia defines Janus as: the god of gates, doors, doorways, beginnings, endings and time. Most often he is depicted as having two heads, facing opposite directions; one head looks back at the last year while the other looks forward to the new, simultaneously into the future and the past.

In modern society having two faces has a different meaning, one that’s frequently applied to Janus. I think as writers we live this more than we like to admit. Which is part of the two-faced deception we hide in the back of our minds. I’m not talking about the fact that we can write characters who do things we would never even contemplate (from skydiving to murder). I’m talking about the face we put forward versus the face we repress.

I’ve read lots and lots of blog posts about writer doubt. I agree with these. I sympathise, and empathise, and go through that same kind of self-doubt many times a year/month/week/day. I’ve been paralyzed by self-doubt, I’ve allowed it to keep me from finshing projects, and I even allowed it to keep me from writing for almost a year.

That’s the face we put forward. Our insecurity, our humility. And I’m not saying we’re deceiving anyone by doing so. These feelings are genuine. Never for a minute think I’m saying otherwise. Self-doubt and insecurity are sincere in any artist.

But there’s the face we don’t show people. The other side of the coin. Janus’s second head. It peeks out occasionally, but for some reason we try and stifle it. Perhaps concerned it will make us look vain and arrogant.

Because that’s what it is. It’s vanity. It’s arrogance. It’s pride and belief and what keeps us up until five am writing that ‘perfect scene’ when we know we have an eight o’clock meeting.

Part of us knows we’ve got talent. It’s not just that we have a story to tell, it’s that we look at the words on paper, the ideas, the thoughts and a part of our mind whispers “damn, I’m good. I’m better than good. I’m absolutely amazing.” It’s the part that cringes every time we receive feedback on something we adore, that screams in our heads “the reader is wrong. I’m brilliant, damn it.” The part that knows who to share that rant with that will back us up. The part that keeps us trying when self-doubt wants to drive an ice pick through our creativity.

Some writers let that arrogance rule their actions. I don’t think that’s right. There’s always room for improvement. I can’t name a single author in history – regardless of sales or awards or pretige – who is without flaw.

However, most of us supress it. We tuck it away, we pretend it doesn’t exist. And it’s usually the talented ones who are guilty of this. I don’t think that’s right either. There’s nothing wrong with having confidence in your work. With wanting to share it, to brag about it, to bask in the glory that praise brings it.

So next time you realize you’ve got something in common with Janus (besides a stunning classic Greek figure), don’t try and deny it. Let that second face out for a little bit. Never let it take control. Never let either face dominate your actions. But consider a little balance. Look backward and forward and appreciate what you’re capable of, tempered with just the right amount of humility.

What’s something you’ve excelled at in your writing that you feel guilty about mentioning? Now’s your chance to brag and own up to your well-earned accomplishments.