I don’t know if it’s the time of year…woot Spring! It’s time for outdoors, flowers, and dreaming of vacations. Or ugh Spring! It’s nearing finals time and all the students are coming to the library in a panic…and projects are due and classes are still going.
Or if I’ve just been under a lot of stress lately: car problems, job got upgraded (which means more work), dog died, friend died, health worries, faith issues, and a general what am I doing with my life feeling, etc.
But I can’t even keep up with my blog (which I love). Seriously, writing is the last thing in the world I want to talk about, much less do.
To make matters worse when I DO think about writing the only thing I can think is… “I’m a hack. I’ll never be more than a b-list author. I am not a talent or a genius. I’ll never change the face of the world like Stoker or Heinlein or Shakespeare. No one will remember me.” I can’t break out of this self-defeating mode…I tell myself rationally that I won’t know unless I try but then my irrational self says, “HA, you already know what’s going to happen! YOU are bored by what you write…how is anyone else going to want to read it?”
And don’t worry, I’m still going to my weekly writing group but it’s becoming a chore. Not because of the group itself but because spending 2 hours talking about writing only serves to make me more depressed. I leave there not energized to write like I have in the past, but instead moping about what an utter failure I am…beating myself up for being lazy…and wondering again how I could have tricked myself into thinking I could pull this whole, “I’m a writer” façade.
ARGH! I hate writing…I hate how insecure it makes me feel…I hate doing it…I hate not doing it…I hate wishing I could do anything but think/wish/worry about writing.
Are you there for me?
Find your…oh forget it.