I dug through my plastic container of miscellaneous notebooks and papers to find a 3-ring binder containing my last work-in-progress, a chick lit novel. The good news is I skimmed a couple pages and I didn't absolutely hate it. It does, however, need a great deal of work. The bad news is my last revision was dated 7-14-05. What the fuck have I have been doing the last two years?!?
Much to my dismay, the thrill of this blog is wearing off. For the past couple months, the excitement of coming up with topics to post about overshadowed the grim reality of my horrendous job. I was just happy to have a reason to write and an audience, albeit small, to listen. Alas, back to reality. I realize my job still blows and more importantly, my current career path to writer is the equivalent of me stumbling around blindfolded in a jungle full of wild animals.
Every few months or so, I re-evaluate my goals as a writer and think about what I need to do in order to become serious about my writing, but in the end, my intimidation leads to discouragement as all motivation goes out the window. Oftentimes, I think my life would be so much easier and I would be so much happier if I wasn't cursed with the desire to write. It truly is a curse!
Why couldn't I strive for a clear-cut profession? Even if writers go to school to perfect their craft, it's not like they graduate and become licensed writers. They don't receive a legal document authorizing them to write. Nope, it's not until you see your name in print that you can officially call yourself a writer. And even then, it's a long road to success. Very few make enough to support themselves as full-time writers.
Sorry for the Debbie (not to be confused with Deborah) Downer post, but this is my mood today. I need a wake-up call; time to get my shit together and do some actual writing.
When meeting someone for the first time, there's a 50/50 chance I'll express my desire to be a writer. For when I do, it's an easy way to deflect questions surrounding dissatisfaction with my current job. Oftentimes, this backfires when I'm bombarded by questions regarding my writing. I immediately freeze up, overcome with shame, when asked if I write and what it is I write. Truthfully, I have done very little writing in the past year, which makes me think I'm doomed for wannabe writer's hell.
Even worse, I'm often put on the defensive when inquiring minds demand to know, "If you want to be a writer, why aren't you writing?" Logically, it should be that easy, shouldn't it? Believe you me, I wish it were. My parents are the poster child for my pro-writing campaign. My contempt for their encouragement grows day-by-day. They mean well, but they do more harm than good. "Why don't you write a book about _____." You name it, I've heard it -- in one way, shape, or form.
With self-doubt as my arch nemesis, it's a battle of good and evil. The angel, on one shoulder, reminds me of all the positive feedback I've heard over the years. But the devil perches on the adjacent shoulder, spewing negativitity, "This is garbage. You'll never get published. No one would read this." After all, the odds of making it as a full-time writer are...well, too depressing to discuss.
Ultimately, you write for yourself, but there's part of you seeking validation for all your hard work -- the part that dreams of seeing your name in print. Not only do you want nothing more than to prove it to yourself, but publication provides evidential support to others as well, particulary those who rejected or questioned your ability.
In 4th grade, we were given an assignment to write a fictional story for class. I remembered thinking, this is my time to really shine! The day we were supposed to hand in our stories, my excitement turned to terror when my teacher told us we were doing peer review before handing in the final draft.
To my dismay, I was paired up with the biggest bully in the 4th grade and one of his ground-worshipping followers. Here I figured these guys would be bored out of their minds listening to my 11-page (2 was the minimum), handwritten story about a female protaganist with terrible luck -- she fell down the stairs a lot and had a brother who played cruel pranks on her. Sadly, that's all I can remember.
I don't recall any details of their stories, but if I had to wager a guess, they'd probably written theirs on the 10-minute bus ride to school that morning. They both rushed through reading their stories so I was completely mortified when it came time to read mine. That is, until I realized they genuinely seemed to enjoy my work and even laughed aloud at certain parts. After I finished, it came time to critique and their only comments were to have the girl fall down the stairs more. Typical guys. Not only did I feel relieved, but I felt proud for having entertained the biggest bully with ADD in my grade.
I still have the story so perhaps I'll dig it out and post it. Then again, I already feel embarrassed enough by all this talk of my writing. I know I'm not alone in feeling this way, but that doesn't necessarily make it any easier. I'd been planning to post about something entirely different until I read a thread on the Absolute Write forum that got me started on this.
I really do. However, I have even less confidence in tackling this endeavor than I do novel writing. I know virtually nothing about the art of film or script writing. I did write a couple plays as a child that my friends and I performed for the neighbors, but apparently, the audience had no idea what was going on so that can't be a good sign! Anyhoo, I thought if I blogged about my desire to do this, I may be more inclined to pursue it. I'll update if any progress is made.
In high school, I had this delusion that when I got to college, everything would fall into place for me. I'd receive my degree, meet my husband and we'd both land terrific jobs after graduation. Well, it's been 4 years since I graduated college and I'm very dissatisfied career-wise. How many people are actually fortunate enough to do something they are truly passionate about? Off-hand, I can only recall one friend who is in the perfect field for her. It frustrates me to the point where it interferes with my desire to pursue writing. I wish it had the reverse effect so it would motivate me, not bring me down, but that's not the case. Using this blog as an outlet has definitely been helpful in the short amount of time I've had it, but it's surely not enough to compensate for my discontent.
