Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Neglect is a funny thing. You don't even notice it's there, and then wham--suddenly, you're a shadow of your former self, casting about for inspiration, withdrawing further into a shell, unable to structure time because there are no clear goals.
I've neglected myself for months. I've been confused and directionless, first because the day job took too many hours, and then I lost my sense of what I was trying to do. I fancy myself tough enough, but how tough can I be if I let my confidence and direction erode through neglect? It's a funny thing that I do...I am petrified by fears of cliches. Not the cliches themselves, but fear of intimacy, fear of abandonment, fear of failure, all the sorts of catch phrases that really do exist and have no business controlling me.
But they do. They sneak in when I'm fretting about something else. I wish I were one of those people who bluster with outrageous ego and ignore self-doubt. Instead I let neglect turn into fear, which destroys quickly once it takes hold. I end up lacking confidence, direction, and even ability, dominated by a self-fulfilling fear of loss.
I am most effective when I have nothing to lose. When I am responsible to no one but myself, when I am not petrified by self-doubt. That's when I'm at my best.
Talking about being a writer does not make someone a writer.
I need to focus, to find a way forward to get my book written.
My usual technique is to force myself into an unfamiliar situation where I rely on my quickness of wit to get by each day—somehow this accesses the creative part of my weird mind—but routine and neglect have dulled my brain. I need to find a way to focus and progress without my usual shortcut to inspiration.
I guess, I mean. Or I could just split and do this the familiar way.