It is hard to fight an enemy who has outposts in your head. — Audre Lord
Looking around, my mind wanders, as it always does. Also as it always does, most of it's wandering is to get out of its current situation. I'd like to call it boredom, but in truth it's more likely that it wanders for avoidance. The more I feel the need to do a specific thing, the more my mind works to avoid it.
Currently I have been working on my second fantasy novel. The first one hasn't sold yet, but that's ok. It's currently out seeking an agent and I have a feeling it eventually will find just the right one.
So why am I writing a blog post and not working on my novel? As I said before: Avoidance.
It's one of those personality ticks that annoy me about myself, but also one that defines me. I've tried to change it about myself, but I find I'm never as happy when I'm trying to be something I'm not, as I am when I just accept and deal with who I am.
I made a good deal of progress on the story yesterday, and I am pleased about that, but I know I'm far from done. I would love to just snap my fingers and be finished, but lacking the magical abilities of my main character, I don't see that happening. Besides, I doubt it would be nearly as satisfying as the struggle of wresting the words from the chaos of my mind and the vastness of my imagination. There is a perverse joy for me in laying these words out on paper to create something interesting and, at moments, spellbinding.
I'm not trying to say that I'm a spectacular writer. But I do have spectacular moments. There are times when the words come to me only after countless days of scribbling and arranging, rearranging, trashing and redefining them. But there are moments, when ideas open up with a sense of perfection that make all the struggles to find them worthwhile.
Writing is the only thing that has been a constant throughout my life. I've changed jobs, careers, interests, hobbies, locations. But writing has always been a part of me.I don't feel I'm me without it. I never go anywhere without a pencil and notebook. Every minute I'm able, I turn to words in some form. It's an obsession that tames the chaos of my mind; The order to the madness; The gravity that holds me in my life.
It took me a long time to be able to call myself a writer, but I do now. I'm not a published one yet - unless you count some essays I wrote in high school that won some contests and were published in local newspapers - but I know I will be someday. For now I am pleased just to call myself what I am and have been for all of my adult life and a good portion of my childhood: I am a writer.
I find saying it out loud and writing it down, both make it more difficult to avoid.
Looking around, my mind wanders, as it always does. Also as it always does, most of it's wandering is to get out of its current situation. I'd like to call it boredom, but in truth it's more likely that it wanders for avoidance. The more I feel the need to do a specific thing, the more my mind works to avoid it.
Currently I have been working on my second fantasy novel. The first one hasn't sold yet, but that's ok. It's currently out seeking an agent and I have a feeling it eventually will find just the right one.
So why am I writing a blog post and not working on my novel? As I said before: Avoidance.
It's one of those personality ticks that annoy me about myself, but also one that defines me. I've tried to change it about myself, but I find I'm never as happy when I'm trying to be something I'm not, as I am when I just accept and deal with who I am.
I made a good deal of progress on the story yesterday, and I am pleased about that, but I know I'm far from done. I would love to just snap my fingers and be finished, but lacking the magical abilities of my main character, I don't see that happening. Besides, I doubt it would be nearly as satisfying as the struggle of wresting the words from the chaos of my mind and the vastness of my imagination. There is a perverse joy for me in laying these words out on paper to create something interesting and, at moments, spellbinding.
I'm not trying to say that I'm a spectacular writer. But I do have spectacular moments. There are times when the words come to me only after countless days of scribbling and arranging, rearranging, trashing and redefining them. But there are moments, when ideas open up with a sense of perfection that make all the struggles to find them worthwhile.
Writing is the only thing that has been a constant throughout my life. I've changed jobs, careers, interests, hobbies, locations. But writing has always been a part of me.I don't feel I'm me without it. I never go anywhere without a pencil and notebook. Every minute I'm able, I turn to words in some form. It's an obsession that tames the chaos of my mind; The order to the madness; The gravity that holds me in my life.
It took me a long time to be able to call myself a writer, but I do now. I'm not a published one yet - unless you count some essays I wrote in high school that won some contests and were published in local newspapers - but I know I will be someday. For now I am pleased just to call myself what I am and have been for all of my adult life and a good portion of my childhood: I am a writer.
I find saying it out loud and writing it down, both make it more difficult to avoid.
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