Month: September 2015

Don’t Get Fooled by the Bad Days

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Like Stella, I got my groove back.

Well, sort of.

I took a look at the last draft of the fourth book in my series and realized I’m not a total piece of shit writer. And that was very encouraging after last week which, can we all collectively agree, kind of sucked?

I wrote a really emo post about how unhappy I was (whilst sipping my fireball and diet coke and eating frosting out of a jar), and then decided not to post because I wanted to retain the little bit of dignity I still had. I’m still between jobs because apparently, I’m un-hireable, except for evil corporations like insurance and sales and I’d rather continue being broke ass poor than sell my soul to get screamed out about things that I don’t understand myself. So it’s been weird. And depressing. And kind of unhealthy which is unfortunate since I don’t have money to buy bigger clothes. BUT I have been rereading my last draft and I realized I’m not so terrible. I’m in no way great, but at least I’m not as retarded as I had myself thinking last week when it was pointed out to me—on more than one occasion—that I misfiled. MISFILED.  (I’m not really working, but I’m helping out around Batman’s parents company to earn a few extra dollars since I’ve grown quite fond of eating during these past thirty years.)

I think the universe was on its period because EVERYTHING was bumming me out. (Not the only person who felt this by the way). I couldn’t get a positive thought in about myself which is really dangerous for artists who, as a group, are known to be quite drastic during dark times. Fear not, both my ears are still securely fastened to the sides of my head, but I hail from a family of artists (couple generations back) that decided making an exit was easier than staying to fight. I would never do anything like that. I don’t think. But when you get in that mindset and you’re like I’M THE BIGGEST FUCKING FAILURE EVER IN EXISTENCE and someone points out that P comes after O in the alphabet, you seriously consider your merit and your contribution to the world.

I know P comes after O. I may have to sing the alphabet to remember, but I understand this. I also understand that maybe I should’ve gotten myself an actual skill like carpentry or understanding computers or learning how to control a room full of children, but I didn’t. I majored in Creative Writing because there was nothing else I wanted to do. I gave no thought to supporting myself because that was something adults did and I will inherently be about sixteen. Or maybe ten, because I still retain that childlike innocence (ignorance) that one day I’ll be able to write full time because that’s what I want more than anything. More than a new laptop that doesn’t crap out on me every five minutes. More than the castle-mansion Batman and I design on a daily basis while skimming pintrest and watching House Hunters. More than a magical wedding in the Artis Zoo in Amsterdam which, by the way, you need to visit. Because it’s fucking unreal.

I’d be willing to be broke ass poor for the rest of my life if it meant I’d be able to barely survive on writing because…

…because that’s all there is. To me. For an occupation. For a passion. For a way to spend my life. And maybe *just maybe* that’s possible. Because my last draft isn’t this garbage piece of shit story. It’s actually kind of… awesome. And I can’t wait to keep writing it. So that’s what I’m going to do.

So fare thee well, good people of Planet Earth. Things may suck at times, yes, but they’re only temporary.

Just Remember: Don’t get fooled by the bad days. You’re better than that.

 

IWSG – Where Did My Oomph Go?

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Everything I write is crap.

That’s my insecurity this month. I don’t know if a plug came loose or it was that nerve-wracking critique group I went to, or if it’s the man in the moon (what my sister calls him) wreaking havoc this past week, but I’ve lost that… oomph. That hell yeah I can conquer this bitch mentality because right now, I feel like an ill-equipped hobbit throwing down with Gandalf the White. And I’m not even a Baggins.

I don’t know what happened. I was full speed ahead the past few months and now I’m chewing on my fingernails while my brain and heart fight over which will implode first. Hopefully this is a wave of panic that can be easily suppressed with sufficient wine and chocolate, which is why I have stocked up on both. We all go through it—in all walks of life– and I guess my turn to fear and doubt and basically freak out is up. But instead of focusing on the fact this even this blog blows sufficient donkey dick, I’m going to list some of the awesome things that have happened recently:

  • Check Engine light came on—car has not broken down yet.
  • Flipped channels and found The Notebook—tuned in right at the rain scene. Ladies, you know what I’m talking about.
  • Attended 1920’s mystery party—found entire outfit in Goodwill/Betty Griffin House DAY OF and received several compliments. (**Did not solve mystery. Busy cashing in on successful bootlegging achievement)
  • Walked through hurricane-like thunderstorm—did not fall once or get blown over.
  • Saw scary ass looking spider on the floor—was already super dead.

(You’ve got to find the miracle in everything.) Hopefully this blah-punch-me-in-the-face feeling will pass and I’ll be back on board the optimism train. What about you? How are you feeling this month?

And if, somehow, you stumbled upon this blog at random (you lucky bastard) the first Wednesday of every month is IWSG which is a time and virtual place for writers of all stages to share their doubts and fears and to offer encouragement to those who might need it. If you’re feeling similarly frightened or exceptionally inspired (or just nosey) I highly suggest you check it out. IWSG is a monthly blog hop started by Alex Cavanaugh.