I've been made of fail with regard to this journal. Although, I don't seem to be alone in that. My f-list over here has been suspiciously silent. I keep forgetting about this journal -- partly on purpose and partly not on purpose. The on-purpose part is because I haven't been writing much this summer. (Or at all. >.O) And it's discouraging to me, even though I know I should post, post, post about it to work through the frustrations and gunk in my head.
I had planned on getting so much done this summer. Best laid plans and all that. I probably should have known it wouldn't work out. I know myself, after all. I never thought I was a lazy person, but maybe I am. I have been busy, but, compared to others I know, I haven't been busy at all. And they still seem to get a ton of stuff done. I'm really not sure what's wrong with me, to tell you the truth. Or maybe there's nothing wrong with me, and I'm being too hard on myself.
My daughter was home all summer. I had planned on her doing all-day camp to give me some mental free-time for working. But that fell through, which, really, was OK. I like being with her. But having an active, loud little kid around isn't conducive to any kind of work that involves brain power. Plus, it's all on me. I love my hubby, but he pretty much does nothing with regard to child care and keeping the house. I understand that's my job and all. My mom loves to remind me of that, which never fails to make me angry. But it's frustrating that his job ends at a certain time of day, at which time he can come home and be "not working". My job never freaking ends. I'm always working. Always doing stuff. And pretty much stuff I don't want to do.
My parents visited for an extended period of time. Two weeks for my dad, and three for my mom. A month with my mom ... It's a daunting thing. I love her, but she is a force of nature. She must have things her way, and she comes to visit with her own agenda for how the visit should go. It's hard to explain, but everything turns into such a stressful battle of wills for me that I'm very withdrawn and psychologically not in a good place by the time she leaves. It takes me at least a week or two to recover once she's gone. That is, if I have the peace and quiet to do so. This time, I really don't, as I have company coming again on Saturday. Not looking forward to it, and I hope their visit passes quickly.
And, overall, I think I'm just discouraged and bitter about the whole writing thing. I have so little support from my circle of friends and family. I think my hubby is finally going to manage to finish the book. I'm grateful that he took the time to do this, as he doesn't read. At all. At the same time, I had to practically beg him to do it. And it's taken him almost as long to read as it took me to write the damn thing. Hubby's secretary has read it, too. She liked it, even though she normally reads mystery-thrillers and it's a fantasy-type book. So, that's encouraging, I guess. Unless they are just being nice and saying they liked it. I'm honestly not sure any more.
But that's it. Out of all the people (probably around 10 or 15 people I trusted enough to agree to let them see it) who approached me and said, "Hey, I want to read it!" these are the only two people who actually have. And I had to beg one of them to do it. I've heard all the excuses by now. I really have. And, on some level, I do understand. It is a long book. It's a big undertaking to ask someone to look at it. But then, I think about how I didn't ask them to do it -- they asked me. So, what does this mean? It makes me feel like the book must be horrible. If it wasn't, wouldn't people actually read it? Especially when they are supposed to be my friends? Especially when they asked me to look at it, instead of the other way around? Sure, I know people have little time. But most of the people I know have plenty of time to read fanfiction and help others out with their fanfiction stories. So, it doesn't seem time is really the problem. It has to be either me, or the book, or both. Whatever. I've tried to come to other conclusions, but this is the one my brain settles on.
At this point, I'm so tired of people asking to read the book and then not following through, that I tend to refuse when people offer. Because I can't take it any more. It hurts. And, even worse than that, it makes me feel alone. And like a failure. I need to try and edit the first book. To see if, maybe, I can make something out of the pile of crap it so obviously is. But I look at it, and even I don't want to read it. I just don't have the energy or the desire. The whole thing feels and seems so hopeless that I basically just want to sit down and cry about it. Crap. And now I am sitting here crying while I try to type this. Bleh. Stupid of me. I need to suck it up, but I've been trying to suck it up for a long time. It just feels like I can't do that any more.
And, of course, I'm supposed to be writing the second book. But, knowing the first one is such crap that I would practically have to pay someone to read it, how can I clear my mind to work on a second book? Maybe I'm better off trashing this particular story line so that I can go off and work on something else.
Bleh. Just ... bleh.
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