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queenoftheskiesI ask myself that often. Seems to be one of the mysteries of the universe.
But, I guess this particular why has to do with why I get all emotional and psychotic over thoughts that I just may not write well enough to entertain hopes of ever becoming professional? Well, maybe not psychotic, cause, while it makes me greatly unhappy and I lament and moan, I don't exactly do anything psychotic.
I just wonder why I can't resolve this particular issue once and for all and why it hits me so hard. It's not like it would stop me from writing.
NOTHING can stop me from writing except for me. And, while I admit that I've done a pretty good job of it over the past few days because I can't really determine the direction I need to go, I never stop completely. I just haven't been writing my usual number of words and have kinda ignored word counts. And, I haven't exactly been happy with anything I've written either.
Working out of it this morning, I think.
I could just write. Actually, I do write. But, I mean, I could write without placing the pressure on myself of succeeding. But I really like the accomplishment that the goals bring. And, unless I'm trying to succeed, I don't really have the need for goals and ambitions.
Where does that leave me?
It leaves me trying to deal with these feelings that pop up from time to time. Granted, more frequently since I've been stressed lately.
I need to set goals that will help me work myself OUT of this.
And, while I do notice it, to varying degrees, among my other writer friends, and therefore suppose that it won't ever go away completely, there must be a way to get it under control.
Perhaps that should be my first goal. Top of the list.
Hey, I'm making progress. Maybe I'll have a complete list of goals by the end of the day. :)
But, I guess this particular why has to do with why I get all emotional and psychotic over thoughts that I just may not write well enough to entertain hopes of ever becoming professional? Well, maybe not psychotic, cause, while it makes me greatly unhappy and I lament and moan, I don't exactly do anything psychotic.
I just wonder why I can't resolve this particular issue once and for all and why it hits me so hard. It's not like it would stop me from writing.
NOTHING can stop me from writing except for me. And, while I admit that I've done a pretty good job of it over the past few days because I can't really determine the direction I need to go, I never stop completely. I just haven't been writing my usual number of words and have kinda ignored word counts. And, I haven't exactly been happy with anything I've written either.
Working out of it this morning, I think.
I could just write. Actually, I do write. But, I mean, I could write without placing the pressure on myself of succeeding. But I really like the accomplishment that the goals bring. And, unless I'm trying to succeed, I don't really have the need for goals and ambitions.
Where does that leave me?
It leaves me trying to deal with these feelings that pop up from time to time. Granted, more frequently since I've been stressed lately.
I need to set goals that will help me work myself OUT of this.
And, while I do notice it, to varying degrees, among my other writer friends, and therefore suppose that it won't ever go away completely, there must be a way to get it under control.
Perhaps that should be my first goal. Top of the list.
Hey, I'm making progress. Maybe I'll have a complete list of goals by the end of the day. :)
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Date: 2005-05-03 12:06 am (UTC)When I was a junior in college majoring in Creative Writing at the University of Illinois, my Intermediate Short Story Writing instructor recommended at the end of the second semester that I switch majors, because, he told me, he didn't think I had the talent to become a writer.
His name was J. Kerker Quinn (I just remembered it after, lo, these many years) and today, I discovered upon googling his name just now, my alma mater gives out a creative writing award named after him.
Anyway, herewith the point.
I was too dumb to take his advice, and four years later I sold my first story. To Frederik Pohl.
So I guess the lesson is to lend a deaf ear to the naysayers (even should one of them happen to be your own esteemed self), hang in there, and keep plugging away.