|Note to self: stock up on pens|
It’s funny how you think you can shed off a piece of yourself like a coat and throw it in the corner, assuming you will never need it again. But even if it gets lost under the pile, deteriorates from age and non-use and seems like a bit of a waste of space, it still belongs to you. That’s how it is with dreams. It may seem a little too ratty to bother with, or it may appear gaudy and overpriced, but it’s still your dream. You’re not going to get rid of it by ignoring it.
I am a terrible writer. It’s true. I read excerpts from my favorite books and I actually cry, both from the beauty of the author’s words and the stark realization that I will never, ever come close to that. Then I read a terrible book and think, hey, why am I not writing? I can at least do this well, eh? But it’s time to stop comparing. I will always come up lacking in my own sense. This is no longer the excuse I want to use for not trying. I have to redefine my version of failure, because only what I am doing (which is nothing) is true failure. Spending a lot of time and effort on a book that may never be seen by anyone outside my close friends and family – that’s not failure.
I have a weird way of keeping my books. I hide sections of them in different spots…and I usually can’t remember where half of them are. I do it partly for shame of my work and slightly for the fear that some idiot may actually steal what I’ve written and try to pass it off as their own. I’m possessive like that. More than that, however, I have to protect my books from myself. I vividly recall destroying one of my nearly finished books a few years ago- I burned it up with a cigarette lighter in a pot on the stove – and I never know when the mood to kill (aka self-hatred) will strike again. Whatever the case, I have a lot of parts to books; an arm here, a torso there, and I am going to use the rest of this year to find what I have to at least one of the books I have written. And then, 2014 is dedicated to NOT burning it up with a cigarette lighter in a pot on the stove. I’m going to actually finish it. That’s all I wish to guarantee for now. I can’t promise an excellent piece of literature, and I can’t even promise I will still want to live after I finish it, but I do need that completion on my record. I crave it and I don’t really like myself without it. I’m really sick of the words “rough draft”.
While I realize “well done is better than well said” I figured I owed an explanation in advance in case I suddenly drop off the planet aka Facebook, Blogger, etc. I am estimating that I will give myself a little break every other weekend to revisit my dear internet addiction, but only briefly. So this isn’t really goodbye for next year, but it’s kind of close.