No Whimsy, Sugar (taste_is_sweet) wrote,
No Whimsy, Sugar

  • Mood:

I Do Not Like This, Sam I Am

Years and years ago, back when I was in my mid (mid? Late? Somewhere in there, anyway) twenties and still single and living by myself in a crappy basement apartment with no light and three cats and living from paycheque-to-paycheque because of my just-above-orangutan-level crappy, crappy job and without internet service or television because I couldn't afford them in my crappy, crappy apartment with the three cats and the cereal I had to keep in the refrigerator to keep ants from getting into it, back when I was part of a writing workshop that met every Wednesday in a funky part of Toronto called Cabbagetown and routinely staying up until three in the morning either to read science fiction or fantasy novels or--and this was great--writing the newest scene of my novel-in-progress because the people in my workshop were all excited to read it and I was excited to write it for them, back then I loved to write.

Now, all I feel, all I can ever feel, it seems, is how stupid and pointless it is to be writing this crap. Even while I'm writing it. Especially while I'm writing it. Each sentence has to be forced through a miasma of terror and self-loathing. I'm lucky if I can manage to choke out a lousy thousand words a day. And before you start thinking that a thousand words a day isn't bad, let me remind you that I work from home. This is the only thing I have to do, besides maybe dishes and laundry and making dinner if I volunteered to do it. None of which takes up that much time.

I hate it. I hate it I hate it I hate it. I hate that I can't seem to stop it. I hate that it never fucking ends. I hate that I'm stuck in this endless loop of no self-esteem whatsoever when it comes to this shit that has stolen my love of writing and hasn't given it back in ten years. I hate that even getting an agent hasn't made any difference. If anything, it's made it worse.

And I hate that I should know better, and feel better about writing and especially about myself. It's not like there aren't examples out there of things I've written that people have really, really liked. It's not like there's anything wrong with me.

Except this, of course. I can't write, and I can't not write. It's all I've ever wanted to do. Except I can't do it.

Argh. Emo whiner is emo. Never mind.
Tags: my novel which is going to kill me, whining, writing
  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.