More of the Same ...
May. 26th, 2009 02:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
texchanStill nothing much going on in my life, writing-wise. It hurts me to type those words. At the same time, I feel I need to be honest with myself. I need to work through these different emotions and urges. Maybe it'll help me the next time a long-standing writer's block hits me.
The frustration is the hardest thing to manage. I feel so angry and frustrated and just ... well, "off". I can't think of a better way to describe it. It permeates every aspect of my life, although such a thing hardly seems possible. How can my writing -- or the lack thereof -- affect the way I approach the world at large? It's not relevant to my relationships with my daughter and husband, to my interaction with my friends, to the way I go about my daily life. It's a part of me, but not all of me.
Or is it?
Because, more and more, I've come to think writing is pretty much all there is for me. Nothing satisfies me the way it does. Nothing makes me happier. Nothing makes me feel more fulfilled. I feel like a turd for admitting that out loud, but it's true. I need to face up to it, and, in doing so, maybe the blocked times will lessen. Well, there's hope for it, anyhow. I think.
At the same time, it scares me to admit how important writing is for me. If I admit that it's "me" -- the main part of who and what I am -- I'm admitting a huge vulnerability in my life. What if the writing goes away? What if I wake up one day, and I have nothing left to say? What if the writer's block isn't just a block, but the beginning of the end? Then, there will be nothing left to me, will there?
The more I think about it ... the more these ideas and feelings chase each other around my brain, the more frustrated and keyed up I feel. I need to relax and just let go. If I can do that, maybe then the words will come. I already know I can't force things. I know that.
But it doesn't get any easier.
The frustration is the hardest thing to manage. I feel so angry and frustrated and just ... well, "off". I can't think of a better way to describe it. It permeates every aspect of my life, although such a thing hardly seems possible. How can my writing -- or the lack thereof -- affect the way I approach the world at large? It's not relevant to my relationships with my daughter and husband, to my interaction with my friends, to the way I go about my daily life. It's a part of me, but not all of me.
Or is it?
Because, more and more, I've come to think writing is pretty much all there is for me. Nothing satisfies me the way it does. Nothing makes me happier. Nothing makes me feel more fulfilled. I feel like a turd for admitting that out loud, but it's true. I need to face up to it, and, in doing so, maybe the blocked times will lessen. Well, there's hope for it, anyhow. I think.
At the same time, it scares me to admit how important writing is for me. If I admit that it's "me" -- the main part of who and what I am -- I'm admitting a huge vulnerability in my life. What if the writing goes away? What if I wake up one day, and I have nothing left to say? What if the writer's block isn't just a block, but the beginning of the end? Then, there will be nothing left to me, will there?
The more I think about it ... the more these ideas and feelings chase each other around my brain, the more frustrated and keyed up I feel. I need to relax and just let go. If I can do that, maybe then the words will come. I already know I can't force things. I know that.
But it doesn't get any easier.