I hate it when I have weeks like this. The last two days have certainly been busy, and hectic, but the truth of the matter is, I've been a real slackass and haven't gotten much done. How is this physiologically possible? I mean, I've applied for some acting jobs out of it, and that's good because it's a paid gig for Halloween--one of my favourite times--but what else do I have to show for it? Uh, a novel that didn't get worked on yesterday because I could feel my mind beginning to implode, and as of right now I still need to sit down with it, and two columns I am just now getting to, and here it is, 10:00 at night. (Which really sounds more dramatic than it is, because I end up turning in usually no earlier than 5 A.M. But follow along.)
*sigh* Doesn't speak too well of my social life, does it? I mean, it's not like I even had one up until now, but now it seems the small one I was beginning to cultivate has gone to hell in a big old doily-covered basket. That doesn't make me happy.
But let's not gloss over this head-implosion thing. Today I was considering all of this swirling eddy around me, and was wondering just how healthy all of this writing can really be. On one hand, I can understand how it helps a writer to...um...actually...well...write. It's perfect for cultivating a talent for becoming better, and even, *gasp* garnering a healthy career. But how healthy can it be for one's psyche? Mine is pretty unstable at best anyway; add to it the stress of non-stop writing and contributing and where does it get me? I'll put it this way: last night, I was ready to get in a tower, and hurt some people. Me, with a loaded gun? It ain't pretty.
How do others do it? I'm learning that with all the writing involved in this self-promotion roller coaster, there comes a healthy dose of stress, and writers are pretty unstable people anyway; we'll be the first to admit it. Are they just better with managing their time, maybe? Oh, wait. I know. They have a staff of ghost-writers who pull columns together for their contributing articles, and they hire grade-school kids to work on their blogs, while they soak up all the glory by continuing to publish novels non-stop; novels that make Grisham and King go, "Wha? How'd you do that?" This has to be the way it happens, and I'm too much of a moron to notice, so here I am, plugging along, actually trying to write what it is that has my name on it. *slaps forehead*
I don't know. I just know that sometimes when I sit down to do this, I end up not having any clue as to what I'm going to say, until I just start typing.
Maybe that's the answer. I just have to get out of my head, and let my fingers do the talking, no matter how much I need to publish in one day. I know that the feeling once I get rolling and really into what I'm saying, is one I love--very freeing--almost like flying: a secret no one else knows. I guess that's what really keeps writers coming back for more. A writer's high. Knowing you've said something and done a great job at it as well. A friend once said to me in my online writing group years ago, that he was certain I had the talent to become a writer: he just wasn't certain I had the discipline.
I'm beginning to wonder if he was right.