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what's it all mean?
Aug. 13th, 2007 10:04 amThe writing has been going well for the last week. I've done some rewriting work on a short story, been working on a new short story (three handwritten pages a day), and working on one of the novels.
It sounds like a lot, doesn't it? I assure you it's not really.
I have been feeling a little bit like a failure lately, and I think that I've been feeling this way unnecessarily.
This year I have written some new stuff, I have sold one story, seen one published, I have dealt with a house that seemed to decide it was falling apart once we found a house to move into (e.g. the basement flooded, just for starters), I moved to a new town, kept my kids alive, had a pregnancy for ten weeks (the first twelve or thirteen weeks are always the worst for me), had a miscarriage that completely beat me up for about three weeks, worked on settling into a new house and town, kept myself and my kids alive... And I've read some great books. (One for every week this year.)
So why do I feel like a failure?
I feel like I lost control of my life for a while, particularly in terms of my writing and my body.
I woke up this month, feeling better than I have in almost a year, and I took stock. I didn't like what I saw. My body is out of whack and out of shape after the last several months and I have several short stories that are in zero draft, and that's all. They should be making the rounds by now, for crying out loud.
And I think a lot of my disgruntlement comes down to expectations, and I am realizing that I've had expectations for myself I've never consciously realized.
I tend to be a pretty high functioning person, and it feels as if I haven't been living up to this. I remember in grad school I read at least 1,000 pages a week (don't ask if I really retained it all -- none of us did), and wrote at least 100 pages of academic work a week, often more. And perhaps that's partially why I feel as if I'm not living up to my potential and have been wasting time. Logically, I know this isn't true. Life has changed, for one thing. I have kids, for example. And I can't forget that it's been a bad year, after a bad winter, after a bad year, after... Life happens, and there's not a lot one can do about that. One can only do the best one can and then moves forward. Right? Right.
I still feel a little bit overwhelmed.
This is what I keep telling myself. Stuff happens, based on our choices or the choices of others. There will be bumps in the road. Sometimes they'll be huge detours, and other times they'll just jostle things around a little bit. One just deals with the bump and moves on, moving towards one's destination at the appropriate speed.
So I'm trying to readjust from my bump and move down the road... Shake it off. But I'm also beginning to realize perhaps my destination wasn't where I thought it was. And perhaps this means I need to turn off onto a different road. Get off the slower rural side road and start heading towards the highway merge.
And be aware there may be more detours, bumps, and even some construction to deal with along the way.
It sounds like a lot, doesn't it? I assure you it's not really.
I have been feeling a little bit like a failure lately, and I think that I've been feeling this way unnecessarily.
This year I have written some new stuff, I have sold one story, seen one published, I have dealt with a house that seemed to decide it was falling apart once we found a house to move into (e.g. the basement flooded, just for starters), I moved to a new town, kept my kids alive, had a pregnancy for ten weeks (the first twelve or thirteen weeks are always the worst for me), had a miscarriage that completely beat me up for about three weeks, worked on settling into a new house and town, kept myself and my kids alive... And I've read some great books. (One for every week this year.)
So why do I feel like a failure?
I feel like I lost control of my life for a while, particularly in terms of my writing and my body.
I woke up this month, feeling better than I have in almost a year, and I took stock. I didn't like what I saw. My body is out of whack and out of shape after the last several months and I have several short stories that are in zero draft, and that's all. They should be making the rounds by now, for crying out loud.
And I think a lot of my disgruntlement comes down to expectations, and I am realizing that I've had expectations for myself I've never consciously realized.
I tend to be a pretty high functioning person, and it feels as if I haven't been living up to this. I remember in grad school I read at least 1,000 pages a week (don't ask if I really retained it all -- none of us did), and wrote at least 100 pages of academic work a week, often more. And perhaps that's partially why I feel as if I'm not living up to my potential and have been wasting time. Logically, I know this isn't true. Life has changed, for one thing. I have kids, for example. And I can't forget that it's been a bad year, after a bad winter, after a bad year, after... Life happens, and there's not a lot one can do about that. One can only do the best one can and then moves forward. Right? Right.
I still feel a little bit overwhelmed.
This is what I keep telling myself. Stuff happens, based on our choices or the choices of others. There will be bumps in the road. Sometimes they'll be huge detours, and other times they'll just jostle things around a little bit. One just deals with the bump and moves on, moving towards one's destination at the appropriate speed.
So I'm trying to readjust from my bump and move down the road... Shake it off. But I'm also beginning to realize perhaps my destination wasn't where I thought it was. And perhaps this means I need to turn off onto a different road. Get off the slower rural side road and start heading towards the highway merge.
And be aware there may be more detours, bumps, and even some construction to deal with along the way.
