I am horribly behind where I want to be. I feel like I’m trudging through mud, trying to accomplish things and with every step I take my shoes become heavier with the weight of the mud. Ever get that feeling? It’s similar to when I’ve had too many things running on my almost-4-year-old-PowerBook and it s l o w s d o w n to the point of sheer frustration and I have to reboot to get it to pick up the speed. Only, I can’t be rebooted. Even a 3 hour nap yesterday did not help. Blah.
All of this aggravation will pass. I know it will. I will find my stride again and start being more productive and get things accomplished. I’m a little off these days for a variety of reasons, some good and some bad, but I will find my center again soon. That doesn’t stop me from being frustrated now though. I am impatient.
When I’m trudging through mud and being unproductive I will kill time by reading blogs. Writers’ blogs. This is where the frustration and aggravation truly kick in. I can convince myself I’m doing okay, being productive, carving a niche or whatever the hell it is I’m supposed to be doing, and then I read some other writers’ blogs and discover… I’m a slacker. Lazy. An underachiever of the worst kind. I know so many amazing and prolific writers who outpace me at every turn that I can’t help but feel low and miserable and not like a writer at all.
I know, I know, it’s not a competition-- and I truly know that-- but still. If only I wrote more, better, faster. If only.
We all do it, of course. All of us writers. We torture ourselves with our failures while hardly acknowledging our accomplishments. I’ve gotten to the point where I hardly ever blog about a new sale or release-- that’s over there in the sidebar, if you’re so inclined to follow the links-- but I’ll post a bad review or comment on my numerous rejections and failures ad nauseum. Oh yes, I will.
I do have a bunch of new sales and releases, and a few more on the horizon. Shiny new book covers and the pleasure of seeing my name first in the table of contents (whether it means something or not, it’s still a pleasure to see). I have submissions going out the door-- perhaps not at the rate I would like, but a steady trickle. I have a screenplay that might be halfway decent by the time I finish it-- if I can finish it. I have a novel proposal I’m working on and a plethora of short stories in my brain, in drafts, in editing. And yet, and yet, and yet… it’s simply not enough.
It’s never enough.
at 12:16 AM Life. Love. Writing. Friendship.
Sex. Books. Movies. Travel. Politics. Feminism. Academia. Insomnia. Rants. Raves. Chocolate. Lots of chocolate. Some names have been changed, some stories have been embellished. Thanks for stopping by and beware of the dog. Read more...
Ah, but for every time you compare yourself to some other writer...some writer is comparing him/herself to you. You see how this works? We conspire against ourselves to keep the insanity levels high. No matter how much work I accomplish in any given hour/day/week/month...it is never enough. Someone is always ahead of me. Or doing more. I have learned to just look away. If a blog or another writer’s update or brag list or whatever makes me feel that crawly, panicky, insecure thing, I look away. Until I am feeling better and more secure. Because *that* part always comes to. Right? Sure it does
xo
S
hey my secret word is friend32! cool. now if only i were 32…
I learned this weekend that Hemingway only wrote a page a day (on a good day).
Thing is, no one’s going to blog when she’s playing Sims 2 instead of sending queries (*ahem* @ self). They seem productive b/c that’s when we “see” them. If they were all that productive, they wouldn’t have time to blog