I’ve been a terrible writer these last few weeks (months?). Not terrible in the way of having sucky writing (which may be true), but terrible in that I’ve not done any significant writing. At least, though, I’ve kept up with my goal of writing something every night before I go to bed, but usually that consists of me bitching about how I have nothing good to say. Then I saw this on my Tumblr feed:
There are other Neil Gaiman quotes that are part of this particular post, and I’ll add them below, but this one really got me thinking about my writing and my story idea. I have this “end vision” of how my story could be accepted (I guess that falls more under the category of “fantasy”) and it’s a good train of thought to have, but it tends to keep me from actually doing the work. Of course, I’ve had plenty of writing teachers say pretty much the same thing in the different classes that I’ve taken; just write, don’t wait for your muse, some days she may not show up. Kind of a bitch that way.
You keep writing until your muse stumbles in on you while you’re busy already working, because you can always add or change stuff, especially the particularly uninspired or sucky stuff. So, I feel bad that it takes the words of Mr. Gaiman to make me feel like moving my pen, like I’m some sort of star-f*cker. But, I don’t feel so bad that I don’t take his advise. I just realize my hypocrisy and move on without actually apologizing for it.
Other stuff gets in my way, too, and will keep getting in my way. Laziness (der), insecurity, paranoia. Like, I’m insecure that my ideas are actually any good, but I’m paranoid about letting anyone (especially those online) see them, lest they be stolen from me. Lame, but real fears. When someone compliments me on my story that I’ve posted, I wonder what they’re motives are. For instance, years ago, I posted a very early chapter (feel free to read and critique. It’s bad, so you best tear me apart.) of my current story on deviantart, and only recently has someone been wanting to see any subsequent chapters.
I informed that person that I don’t really have any, except for “Naldius’ Beginning” that I posted here and that, should I post more writing, it will more than likely be to this blog, not my deviantart. This person has become a little pushier than I am willing to deal with, so I’ve kind of ignored them, except I can’t ignore this nagging feeling of “What do they really want?”
This is something I do all the time. I can’t just accept a compliment and move on, I have to poke and prod it until I see the underpinnings of deceit and malice that must certainly hold up that facade of friendliness. Last week, as I’m walking down a main hallway in the university I teach at, I get stopped by a young man hoping to spread word about the mentor opportunities at the school. He and I catch eyes, he walks across the hall towards me as I pull out my earbuds, and he says something like, “I want to stop you to tell you about this and because you’re pretty…” I listened, he gave me some booth swag, then I proceeded down the hallway towards my classroom.
I took a pitstop in the bathroom and I couldn’t stop myself from thinking, “What did he mean by that? I’m not pretty [not fishing for compliments, bt-dub], so what kind of ploy was that?” I guess I could try to fancy myself a rhetorician by such analysis, observing a ham-fisted attempt at pathos on the young man’s part, but really, I let my inner high-schooler take over. It’s been a long time since I let her do that, and all of a sudden, with deviantart and in real life, she’s gotten more control. She keeps getting out of her cage.
There’s no resolution with my insecurities and inability to banish my high school self; that little girl will never go away. But, I don’t want to try to accept her, because I’ll never like her. I guess, like anyone hoping to be any kind of decent at anything, I hope I can use her as motivation for proving that I can be better than I was.
I’ll keep allowing myself that “end vision” for my story, because I hope it will help me be better than the idiot that gets out of her cage, as she’s full of undeserved angst and is a lot less fun than my inner fangirl, whom I’ve yet had the need to chain up. Also, because it kind of makes me happy, even though it’s unsubstantial. At the same time, though, I’m trying to write down at least a rough storyline in my nighttime journal, so I can push through the crappy uninspired bits and figure out something good. And, every time I think of Mr. Gaiman just as he is in that picture.
Really, this has been a very long way of saying that I’m sorry for not being as attentive as I should have been, as I was a little while ago. Especially concerning Loren’s blog. I’m going to try to do better.