Thursday, March 02, 2006

I'm experiencing a weird vibe right now. I don't know if it's me being hyper-sensitive or if it's the course I'm currently on. Either way, as the desperation of my condition continues to set in, the depression I am feeling is becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
Stress is a factor, as is loneliness. Stagnation and exhaustion are indications as well. Frustration plays a mighty role, and lends way to contemplation, which in turns allows for self-imposed expectation and ultimately, condemnation.
Despite the "TION" communication of this dissertation, there is no relation to the fact that today is the birthday of one Dr. Seuss (a.k.a. Theodor Geisel). I wish there were. GOD, HOW I WISH THERE WERE. Unfortunately, it's all about me today. Me putting pressure on myself for having committed to something that at times seems a grander challenge than I am capable of.
I am talking about writing.
Not just any writing.
Certainly not blog writing.
I am talking about writing my novel.
For a year now, I have been complaining that not having a place, time, or a means of writing has been part of an ongoing problem I've had with fulfilling my obligation to myself, but now that I have a nifty new notebook primed and at my disposal, I am scared shitless. I am scared shitless because over the past two days I've come to realize I've always been scared shitless. Not of the writing process per se, rather the thought of actually accomplishing something without having the burden of being told I can't do it. I'm scared shitless, not of the creative process either, rather because the thought of failure is a MAJOR bone of contention for me. This fear of mine - the premise of being scared shitless - is stifling to the point of near paralization, thus lending an extra hand to my deviant procrastination, followed closely by my creative self-destruction, and ultimately my mental execution.
Maybe what I am in need of is verbal masturbation. Better still, a little linguistic fornication.
What I'd really like is a stress related vacation to a yet undiscovered part of this vast nation.

1 Comments:

Blogger Tom said...

I'm a writer and most of my friends are writers and I will tell you, this sounds like the inner monologue of every writer I know including yours truly.

And actually finishing something and getting it out there doesn't make much difference: every Everest is the first one.

4:25 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home