White Noise

I hesitate to write about the anguish of writing because there is so much more important anguish in the world. Seriously, if we never publish a thing, it's not going to be the end of the universe; it won't even mean the collapse of our little universe. Dreams die hard, but their death is generally survivable.

Yet these doubts and fears are part of the process, and if I want to hold myself accountable on this journey, I suppose I need to acknowledge them. Of course, since I just had to rip out 2.5 pages, and I'm feeling kind of stuck, this may be the only writing I'm doing tonight, so there's that to account for too.

Sometimes the anxiety overwhelms the work. Sometimes the work overwhelms the anxiety. For me, the balancing act is constant, and the least upset to my state of mind can create a buzz that obscures the words. I am forever trying to find that inner peace that allows the ideas to rise through me and onto the page of their own accord. If I try to force it, it shows.

I'm not too thrilled with myself, either, when the writing doesn't go well. It tends to make me a little... snappish. Add to that ongoing and never-ending computer issues, and I often feel as if my head might explode. No matter how often I remind myself of the foolishness of getting upset over little things, I can never quite control my temper. And while the phrase "artistic temperament" has been used (by others) to excuse my outbursts, I don't want to be an arschloch to the people I care about in order to get creative. At this point, the trade-off is definitely NOT worth it.

Well... offer me a couple million for the book & movie rights, and then we'll see. :)