Yet another form of not doing what I supposedly want to be doing: justifying the justification
A while back, my best friend Lizzi gave me a tough-love speech about my writing.
“You don’t know how lucky you are,” she told me. “So many people don’t know what they want to do with their lives. You do. You do, and you’re not doing it.”
She had (has) a point.
My other friends express the occasional interest/concern, too. Just this past week, my friend Adam asked me about The Book.
I attempted to dodge him, mumbling something about if I wanted to work on it I would and when the time is right and I’ll get to it eventually. Sensing my neuroses, he said, “I’m not sure whether or not to ask about it. It’s probably annoying, huh?”
But the truth is, it wasn’t (isn’t). No, I told him. It’s good for me to be reminded of That Gift I’ve Been Given That I Haven’t Been Doing Shit With. My squandered talent. The thing that I supposedly love to do and yet don’t. Good to be reminded, because I spend a lot of time trying not to think about it. Because when I do think about it, I can’t come up with a good reason why. Why I continue to squander and ignore and waste and dodge.
Theories abound. I’m afraid? Maybe. I don’t think I’m talented, good enough, interesting enough, enough enough enough to “make it?” Probably. I’m lazy and just want to watch TV for the rest of my life? Perhaps. I write marketing copy all day and can’t muster any more creativity in my spare time? Could be. The Book and the issue of what the fuck to do with it and how the fuck to re-write it have so mentally constipated me that I’m literally unable to work on anything else? A good guess. I’m not really excited about my life and haven’t had sex in a very long time or been in a relationship since Bush’s first term? Okay. A combination of all of these things and more? Sure, why not?
My point being: I have no fucking clue why I’d rather write about not writing than write something of actual substance. And without understanding the why, I’m not quite sure how to overcome the problem, other than just telling myself to get off my ass and goddammit do something already. But that hasn’t really been working out so well for me.
Own worst enemy? Yep, that would be me.
My only consolation is that I’m not alone. Other writers experience the same damn issues. In her post on writeforyourlife.net, a site about writing that I read in lieu of writing myself, Manuela Boyle breaks it down:
There are lots of us writers who make their living doing the thing they love; and yet as a result, don’t make their living in the way they’d really love.
What I’m trying to say is that the writing skillset is like France: much bigger than you thought when you get there, and that if you’ve got talent, then hell, make like Simon Cowell and put it to work.
But let’s pause and think about the writer’s gentle soul awhile. Some of the copywriters I know have literary or non-fiction ambitions; others quite simply, don’t.
Some are lazy when it comes to that magnus opus, some think they’ll eventually get round to it, and others know their own creative practice is good for them, like greens are, but don’t want to participate.
A handful—and here’s the type that impresses me most—do both. They write copy in the day, and create worlds of their own by night.
What of the writer who is (g) all of the above? What will light a fire under her ass? Though a better question might be: If the fire isn’t already lit, is it even worth hunting around for those matches?
Tags: Self-Reflection, Writers, Writing
February 25th, 2010 at 12:16 pm
First, huge thanks for reading and linking to WfYL - much appreciated and glad you found the article interesting.
My opinion is that it is worth hunting for the matches. Writing can be a demoralising pursuit and I’ve gone for months and months battling against a lack of, I dunno, spark.
I think it’s less to do with writing or even writing all the time. I think it’s more to do with the project. When you get a project you believe in, writing or otherwise, you tend to want to do it all the time. And so you do.
Anyhoo, thanks again!
February 25th, 2010 at 3:18 pm
Hey Julie, thank you muchly for the shout-out. We writers need to look out for each other! I know I am my own worst enemy. And I think copywriting or blogging reminds writers we can write: it’s an instant reward. The hardest thing an artist can do is to confront making their own art. And there lies the damned and pesky paradox. If only it weren’t so
Hunt for the matches!
March 1st, 2010 at 6:24 pm
I wish I could say something insightful or comforting. In the absence of that, I’ll just say that I love reading what you write and it makes me want to write, too.
March 3rd, 2010 at 9:00 am
I have matches–lord knows I’m not using them.