Wednesdays We Write

I wanted to start this blog to give myself incentive to write again.  For so long now I've pushed off writing -- for somedays and when-I-have times, but the days are never some and time is never had.

And even now.  Sitting at my desk, the cursor blinking its steady, mocking at-the-ready -- I feel empty of words, just like the page.

Sometimes, I'll be working and listening to podcasts and feel a spark of inspiration and make a note in my phone to fill it in later, but the later never arrives because, I think, if I just keep saying I WILL write, it means I haven't given up.

But I had.

I had given up out of fear and frustration and expectations that are too high to be met.

I never feel productive enough.  I always have something pulling at me, nagging my brain, telling me - this, and this, and this.

Edit that commercial you just shot.  Edit that music video you said you'd finish two months ago.  Re-edit that thesis film you shot three years ago.  Finish your kickstarter prizes.  Make that logo to put on DVD sleeves.  Find out how to make DVD sleeves.  Create that annotated script you promised.  Learn how to manipulate documents in Adobe.  Learn After Effects.  Learn all the editing programs better.  Take up sound mixing?  Start selling things to make extra cash. Sell the clothes you no longer fit in.  Post that old phone online.  Clear it off first.  Clear off your current phone of its 21,966 photos.  Archive old continuity photos.  Look for jobs.  Find a more stable career that's still creative.  Pay for Mandy.com?  Get PA license plates.  Get PA auto insurance?  Get your car inspected.  Fuck, get your expired passport renewed.  Learn how to file your own crazy freelance taxes so your mom doesn't have to do it.  Read that book.  Read that other book.  Submit stories to that podcast you love.  Write stories so that you can submit to that podcast you love.  Write stories just so you have stories written.  Try standup comedy.  Write some jokes for standup open mic nights.  Go somewhere other than The Nut Hut.  Vacuum your stairs.  Clean your room.  Scrub the kitchen.  Scrub the tub.  Tile the entryway.  Lookup how to tile your entryway.  Call your friends.  Call your nana.  Call your parents.  Volunteer for a cause.  Learn more about politics.  Stand for something.  Stop being so conflict avoidant.  Donate to a cause.  Be a better human............

The mountain of duties and obligations and responsibilities is untraversable.  The murk of day-to-day gets in the way and prevents any productivity.  And then after my six-day work week, I'm exhausted and I just want to relax and feel like I've deserved it.  But I never feel like I deserve it.

A friend of mine told me that I'm too hard on myself - I work three jobs and the idea that I'm not "doing enough" is absurd.  But I will always feel like I'm not doing enough (read: that I am not enough).

And that feeling manifests itself most when I'm home after work and doing nothing.  Because if I'm doing nothing?  I am nothing. 

But the pressure to create is just so heavy that I can't bear the obligation, so I drink to quiet my mind and quiet my fear and turn off my brain.

I used to write all the time.  For fun.  To create stories.  In journals.  In co-written adventures via notes.  On random pages.  In word documents.  On every blank surface.  I relished the beauty and potential of a fresh notebook.

I found this poem I wrote when I was 12:

Sure, it's a dark and depressing poem for a 12 year old.  But I love it.  It's feelings at their rawest - it's the angst of a preteen letting herself explore and express the depths of her sorrow.  It's the indulgence of an urge unfettered by society and grades and self-doubt.

I don't know when that instinctual urge left - I expect it came about somewhere in the college days. When criticism and stakes became prominent.  Like when I was in grad school and no longer a big fish in a small pond, just a normal sized fish in a giant city and a cohort full of intelligent and talented people.

I think it definitely faltered when the Hollywood-writing professor told me after my first assignment, "no one would ever want to watch that," when suddenly I had to face my biggest fear, and forfeited my writing because the idea of sharing with the world became too vulnerable to sacrifice; because it was too much to lose when my dream had been crushed.

I want that uninhibited 12 year-old instinct back.  The one that says, "write about taboo subjects and use curse words!  Break the rules and express yourself and change the structure for dramatic effect!  Follow your instincts and explore your emotions and to hell (in a cofin) with others' expectations!"

It's awful to sit here and hate my own voice.

I think I just need to get used to hearing it again.