Been gone awhile & can’t find the way back home

I want to be more than I am,
and I struggle every way that I can.
But despair wins again,
and depression sets back in.
Try to remember these feelings are just
clouds across the sky of my reality.
But they don’t stop pouring rain
long enough for the sun to shine and nourish me.

So writing is the first thing to go when I get overwhelmed by life again. The long gaps in my blogging are the archaeology of my depression. If I’m posting new stuff then I’m doing mighty fine, and I’m enjoying a moment of rest in a good mental place. But as soon as I hit that rocky ground filled with despair and the morass that is zero self-worth, the writing stops happening. The ideas don’t stop, the desire pulses there so hotly it’s another form of agony, but the ability to sit myself down and pour those ideas out onto the keyboard locks up tight. It’s like lockjaw sets in and I starve for the very thing I’m not feeding myself. 

Then I write a mega angsty post about it and feel like a drama queen. 

Or, being just a little gentler on myself, maybe the angsty post serves the same purpose as sweeping the circle clear; you have to cleanse the negative energy somehow and reclaim your sacred ground. 


Published in: on August 10, 2017 at 7:38 pm  Comments (4)  
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The Persistant Quitter

So I read something simply astounding today. I simply couldn’t find words to express the emotions it evoked within me. I was devastated by its intensity.

Then the most absurd thing happened. Reading this stunning article left me with the overwhelming desire to stop writing. Forever. Never try again. Simply quit. Again. It really is what I’m best at after all; the single action and reaction I’ve practiced and perfected my entire life.

I read this inexplicably beautiful work about language and place and loss, and then I saw that it had been sent into the world on the same day as my most recent blog post, with its tiny writing sample, and my mind shuddered for a moment then screamed, “Stop right now! Oh my lord, you are embarrassing yourself!” And I cried, because I’m splendidly well suited to that reaction as well.

Then I became stubborn. Obstinate. Tenacious.

Yes, my writing was silly and rather pointless in comparison, lacking in every way the mastery that made the article I’d just read something that will leave an imprint within me that I’ll never shake. Of course it was. Of course my work is rough, and kind of crap, and at this point really unfit for sharing about with other literate beings. I’ve wrote stories from the very first moment I was sufficiently able to read and hold a #2 pencil, but I quit completely in 2005 when I decided that if I couldn’t write something publishable, something profitable, then it was a pointless exercise in self indulgence and a waste of time I should instead be spending “adulting around the island, adult, adult, adult.”

So after 9 years I started over. I was scared, and rusty, and completely directionless with it, but I sat there and gave myself permission to write terribly. This attempt lasted three months. At which point I allowed life to cajole me into giving up, again. Over and over I come back to the belief  that because what I’m doing isn’t lyrical, or epic in scope, or heart wrenching, or whatever the fuck I’m hung up on, that I must stop. That I’m delusional when I begin to hope that writing is a calling of which I’m worthy.

I started over again in January anyhow, with the timed free writes and the prompts and a project I’d probably be ashamed of if my grandmother ever read the stories. And its garbage. Truly awful – with cliches, astonishing grammatical errors, and my continued abuse and overuse of poor little commas. But how will it ever improve, ever grow, ever learn or develop if I keep quitting? Why do I expect such greatness from a skill I’ve consistently abandoned every time I start to feel ridiculous and foolish?

So my writing is young, and rubbish, and will likely never encompass topics as noble and venerable as those encompassed in the article I read today, but its mine. And writing, badly, hurts just a little less than not writing at all, which is a pain I can no longer handle. So I’m writing. I’ll keep on writing. Writing the things that appeal to me, the threads I find that pull me away into the wild, and I’ll bring back those stories, and if they’re never anything more then something I share with my framily, then that’s fine.

It’s all fine.

Published in: on February 28, 2015 at 11:54 am  Comments (4)  
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Before we begin, a question…

I have recently done some not really all that serious soul searching about this blog. I’ve started and stopped using it several times now, and framily members have posed many good questions I needed to consider in order to make an eventual decision in regards to continuing forth in the world of creative writing blogging.

++ Question #1 was more of a statement, with no prelude, and no obvious ties to this blog, that was put to me by my bestest pal. She said, “Stop giving your work away for free!” Now that’s a serious allegation she made right there and at first my answer was a daft “Uhhh…what? What does that mean? What work?” But I kept pondering the possible meanings and decided it could pertain to this blog, since I post actual samples of my writing, and I am just putting them out there into the world where anyone could commandeer them if they weren’t too shy about plagiarism. But these are just tiny nibblets of writing, and usually I feel pretty confident that I’m not going to do anything more with them in a serious way, so hopefully I won’t recognize one down the line in a book or a movie and think “Well damn…”

++ Question #2 was about whether or not I felt like the blog made me more creative, or encouraged me to create more often. And no, it does not. Hence the long long breaks between short bursts of posting. No, what the blog is meant to do is provide my framily a convenient place to say “Hooray You! We knew you didn’t completely suck and are happy to tell you through this impersonal medium that we like what ya did there. Now go do that some more.” Seriously, I’ve nearly no confidence in my abilities with this. And since I’m mostly praise driven – the point of this is to get as much warm and snuggley approval as I can possibly wring from the interwebs.

++ Question #3 “Do you enjoy writing it?” I do as soon as someone comments on a post. Instant gratification at its best! I also enjoy that some of these small writings, which would be sad abandoned dust bunnies in the back of a musty writing folder in my library otherwise, have a place to go and say “Hey! I existed!”

++ Question #4 asked my intuition to speak up and have a say in the matter to which she said, “No. Stop. Stop right there. Don’t come any closer!” Seriously, there was no opinion on that front other than the depressing sense of a creature too long ignored to feel comfortable speaking in clear sentences or forming strong opinions. I haven’t listened most of my life; I doubt she’d believe me if I said I was going to start consulting with her now.

++ Other half formed thoughts on the matter centered around daydream topics like how the blog would be good future marketing if I ever became a published author, or how I could theoretically utilize the blog as some measuring device for building self discipline, and other similar musings. Eventually I came to the final decision that I would in fact give this another go, and I’ve made the bold move of setting a posting schedule. I’m not revealing what that is right now, on the not so off chance that it all falls to shit and I don’t follow through.

++Yup. That’s right, I’m leaving myself an out. Tada!

Published in: on February 21, 2015 at 6:02 pm  Leave a Comment  
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