This Monday
marked a crucial moment for me. I ended months of pre-writing and finally began
writing a draft of the introduction to my book. Thus set into motion, the
process will carry me. I feel great. And I am confident that I will get a draft
of my manuscript to my editor by October 31, 2015.
Getting
down to writing the book has proven challenging. On long academic pieces, I
work slowly, a victim of my perfectionism. I struggle to get past the
burdensome sense that I am not yet prepared to begin tackling the issues. I fear
that I don’t know enough, that I haven’t yet read or reread the important
materials. I worry that I haven’t kept up with the literature enough to be
ready for any fellow historians who might blindside me. “Is this guy Rubin an
idiot? Doesn’t he know that his stupid argument has been repeatedly been
debunked? Why has he conducted such an obsolete study? Why did he bother
writing such a book?”
I then drag
out and apply my trusty old wherewithal, and I remember that such responses are
unlikely. And, if anyone should respond in that manner, then I need not care a
whit. Every book has its critics—lots. I should be delighted if enough people
read the book to bother eviscerating it. What could be more fun than to join
the historiographical fray, the give and take among smart, excited scholars?