Yzabel / October 30, 2013

Or at least, that’s the way I often feel. Although it’s not true. Well, not completely. (What, did you think this ost was going to be about me moping from beginning to end? Think twice.)

I’m positive I’m far from being the only writer going through such conundrums. Am I?

Those days when you work on a story, only to read something else a couple of hours later, on a similar theme, something that makes you think that your own text is dumb, flat, flavourless.

Those days when you know the deadline is nearing, that you should work on your short story, finish it quickly so that your beta-readers (or just yourself, if you don’t have any) still have some time left to proof-read it. But you can’t, because that nagging feeling is always here, whispering “it’s useless, this text will never be accepted, it’ll just land on the slush pile among all the other submissions that are just as crappy as yours.” So you remain sitting at your desk, looking blandly at a story you know how to finish, only the words won’t come out.

Those days when your own ideas seem wonderful as long as they remain in your head, only to lose all their punch in your eyes once you commit them to paper (or computer). And you wonder, once again, whether it was worth it or not, whether you’re doomed to “ruin” everything you touch. Whether you “have it in you” at all.

Yet you don’t stop. You cannot stop. Something in you prompts you to go on. Some masochistic streak, perhaps. Or some hidden strength that discreetly shoves aside the little voice, in its own silent way. You go to bed one day, defeated and considering to just scrap that story and start anew, or not start again at all; the next morning, a random sentence pops into your head, making you think “wait, this would sound great in [that part of] my story”. And there it is again, the spark, the inner glow you had forgotten still dwellt in your heart, and before you know it, your story or chapter is finished—with a bonus: this time, it looks like it can stand on its own two feet for a change, albeit tentatively.

I don’t like the negative thought processes I go through before finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel; on the other hand, they make the good moments seem so much brighter, more intense. I know I’ll go through such rock-bottom phases on a regular basis, and I dread them; at the same time, I’m a little fond of them all the same, because they make me question myself, my craft, my ability to write, and in turn, I am pushed to research writing techniques, experiment with new things, improve as much as I can. I know myself: should I be full of self-confidence all the time, I’d grow complacent, and complacency means stagnation to me.

So perhaps I am a bit of a masochist. Perhaps I’m “lucky”, in a way, in that I’m one of those people who do well in times of stress, and are never as efficient as when the deadline looms in—being able to remain a functional being in such moments of sheer panicking is quite an asset, I tell you. Perhaps I also feel just a little jealous of those writers and other artists who keep their self-confidence in check at all times, or almost, and never let their doubts get in the way. (A little? No, wait. That’s a lie. Replace it by “a lot”.)

Still, it keeps me in check. And when your Muse is just the same lazy bum as yourself, this is definitely something I want. (*)

I guess the morale of this post is simply: never give up, no matter your feelings. If that story’s in you, it has to be given birth, no matter how painful it is.

(*) I admit it openly: I am a lazy person. However, I have developed the Art of Laziness to the following point: “Learn to get things done fast and well, so that you can idle around freely afterwards.” In a twisted way, this is how I achieve efficiency in… pretty much everything.