My Writer's Dilemma

 I like to consider myself a rather hardworking person. This being said, there are some things I simply want to be done with, and I may not put in the extra effort to complete them. Does all of the laundry really have to be folded tonight? Or can I just put all of these random pieces into this basket by the bed? Because why would I want to spend two minutes folding them, and putting them neatly in a drawer when I can spend thirty seconds scraping them into a basket and then at least two minutes each day digging in the same basket to find the one article I need?

What is this part of our brain? Seriously, what is its purpose? I really want to picture the application of this attitude in a society of foragers. Is it because if we stockpiled too much food and meat at one time we would get bored the next day and the food would eventually rot? Are we leaving something to occupy our time in case we run out of things to do while trying to stay alive? 

I know some of this is burnout. I read an article a few years ago about my generation having severe burnout to the point they cannot function in everyday tasks like paying bills, housekeeping, and self-care.

Perhaps it is my form of writer's block, and perhaps it is my brain telling me that I am doing too much. It could be a red flag that I need to slow down. It could be a product of my anxiety disorder. Perhaps I have mentioned this on my blog before, but I am mentioning it again because it has stuck with me so vividly. In my first year of teaching, I sat behind a desk piled high with papers to grade, the floor was a complete mess and I knew the janitor would be in any minute to complain about the state of the room. I was staring at the wall across from me when the director of instruction came in and just stared back. I told her I did not know what to do next, I was lost and the piles and messes were growing. Then she perfectly articulated what was going on in my subconscious. She said, "You are so worried you will not be able to do something perfectly, so you are not willing to do anything at all."

This woman knew me. She had seen me in action. She had seen me pour my passion for learning into the classroom for months and knew what I was capable of. She also knew I wanted everything to be perfect. 

So, this is where I am. I have been shown a really methodical way to approach my novel. I have broken down the elements and dug deeper than I ever imagined. I know what I am meant to do, but now I am frozen. 

I have written the beginning chapters over and over. I have four different prologues and just as many sequences. I have a list of exposition, conflicts, moral themes, etc. and all that remains is for me to plug them into a scene sequence. When I do this, the scenes seem to dissolve. Huge chunks of my work seem irrelevant. Now I am creating new scenes to match what is "needed" and I hate it.

I am certain this is all a result of my desire to get everything perfect and my unwillingness to create anything less. Perhaps now I have named my evil and I can face it. But if it cannot be perfect, let it at least not be total trash, which is truly my greatest fear.

December - Insecure Writer's Support Group

 What in the world? How did I forget this month!!!

Real quick, it is my lunch break, here it goes...

The awesome co-hosts for the December 2 posting of the IWSG are Pat Garcia, Sylvia Ney, Liesbet @ Roaming About Cathrina Constantine, and Natalie Aguirre!

December 2 question - Are there months or times of the year that you are more productive with your writing than other months, and why?

Not right now! That is the easy answer. I have had one load after another dropped, and I dare not complain because having a job in this time is a luxury many do not have. On the flip side, there is a shortage of people who want to work with me, so I am doing multiple jobs at once. Just yesterday, I cooked breakfast and lunch for sixty-odd kids, trained a teacher while monitoring a class of twenty,  then switched back to assistant director to close and disinfect the facility. By the time I get home these days, it has been dark for more than an hour, I've been away from my own kids for 11 hours, and I am exhausted.

Update on the novel:  I am pausing my draft for the moment to complete a final timeline that includes character conflict, moral themes, and world building. Once I have completed this, the draft will continue.

I literally wish I could just go without sleep at this point. I might actually accomplish something.

If you are interested in reading what others have to say about this question, please follow the link behind the badge below. You will find many, many blogs here, and can hop to any you please for interesting perspectives. 

Sorry for any typos, no time to edit...

November - Insecure Writers Support Group

 November 4 question - Albert Camus once said, “The purpose of a writer is to keep civilization from destroying itself.” Flannery O’Conner said, “I write to discover what I know.” Authors across time and distance have had many reasons to write. Why do you write what you write?

So what insecurities do I have for you this month? Well, I once said, "I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up." I think it was last week sometime. Seriously, I hate the way this world works. For some reason, I grew up with the notion that I needed to picture the life I wanted, and then work whatever job I had to in order to keep it. And that is what I have done. I have always worked, sometimes two or three jobs, to make sure I could keep my house and my car and my artistic supplies addiction, all while trying to decide what to do with my bachelor of arts degree during a recession.

So when I lost my third job in a row due to merger/closure/recession in 2009 I looked for a job I would never lose. I became a teacher. Like most things I set my mind to, I was good at it. I picked up a masters degree, and went on my merry way (with tens of thousands of dollars in student loan debt).

I say all this to explain the fact that I have never really stopped to figure out what I wanted to actually spend my life doing. I knew I wanted a family, I knew I wanted to live comfortably, but for some reason I never considered that I would spend ten hours every day doing something I did not necessarily love in order to get those things.

Luckily my husband is a genius and he discovered this massive secret that rich people have been keeping about financial independence and early retirement. So I might get to enjoy sailing the world with my children in the next decade or two, instead of waiting for my sixties to be free to use my time for myself.

So how does this relate to my reason for writing?

I write because it feels like something I can do successfully* and enjoy doing.

*Keep in mind, successfully relates to last month's post. I consider myself successful if I have produced something I am proud of. I do intend to share what I produce, but I will not measure my success by whether or not it creates an income for me.

Every job or career I have ever pursued has brought success. I work my hardest no matter what I do. But writing is not a job for me. It also is not a hobby. I do not consider my writing to be like my other artistic talents. Somehow it is more serious, and it is definitely more structured. I never carved out time every day to paint or sew. I did share my gardening and beekeeping on a blog once upon a time, and kept a journal or two on my progress and research, but even that is different, because the garden does not come with me when I travel, and I was not able to bring it with me when I moved across the country. It no longer exists outside of my memories.

I write because it is a part of me that materializes into the real world. Even though it manifests outside of me, I can take it with me. I write because it feels like the closest I can get to my lifework.

So what do I write? I write about nature. The nature of our world, the nature of imaginary worlds, the nature of people and races known and unknown. 

As my current novel unfolds, I discover my own nature as well. I find it difficult to create conflict because I strive to avoid it at all costs in the real world. Learning about using moral messages and value clashes to create conflict between characters has been an interesting journey. I have also discovered just how great this novel can be. I see its scale becoming grand. I do not mean in word count, but in content. I want to create something amazing. I want to create a world that seems real, that makes readers want to go there, to fight alongside the characters, to protect the ones who cannot fight, and to experience their victories. 

I no longer want to just tell a story, I want to create a new reality.

Why do you do what you do?

The awesome co-hosts for the November 4 posting of the IWSG are Jemi Fraser, Kim Lajevardi, L.G Keltner, Tyrean Martinson, and Rachna Chhabria!

If you are interested in reading what others have to say about this question, please follow the link behind the badge below. You will find many, many blogs here, and can hop to any you please for interesting perspectives. 

IWSG - October - Another Year Older

Age is an interesting thing. It was not too long ago, maybe 10 or 15 years, that I asked my mom how old I would have to be before people just accepted who I was. Every family has that aunt who does things a little different, or that uncle who reacts a certain way to similar situations. Everyone has that friend at whom the others just shake their heads and say, "That's just so-and-so." I recognized a level of acceptance, and it seemed to only surround older people, not teenagers or twenty-somethings. So I had concluded that it must be something that comes with age, and I wanted to know when that was coming. At what age could I just be myself and others would say, "Well that is who she is," and not try to judge or shape me?

When I look back on the question, I wonder, does that mean that people have given up or stopped caring? It is an interesting thought and it roughly connects to this month's question.

Every year around my birthday I give myself a quick comparison. This year, I have two more years during which I could become a special agent in the FBI, a goal I only recently dropped, but I still use for perspective. A more recent comparison I use, is the first published date of famous authors. A study done a few years ago concluded that the average age of first publication among professional authors is 36. That's just 363 days away from today. Rowling was 32, Ursula K Le Guin was 37 if you look up first novel published, Octavia Butler was 29, Terry Brooks was 33, Stephen King was 27, etc. 

Don't worry, I am acutely aware that this is a form of judgement, and I am not placing it on myself or others. But it is a perspective with some use. It does not make me feel like I am inferior or behind. After all, I did not set out to become an author, it has simply been a dream in the back of my head that seemed about as likely as me becoming president. I also have a family and a full time job. Reading Stephen King's On Writing makes me certain that his wife should have received all of his early awards. This is also why I mainly like to read about the lives of the female authors mentioned above. No one needs to compare apples to oranges.

So does the fact that I have less than one year to meet the average first published date bother me? Not really. No more so than it did when I lost my first tooth at age seven while others did at age 5. But this does bring me to this month's question:

October 7 question - When you think of the term working writer, what does that look like to you? What do you think it is supposed to look like? Do you see yourself as a working writer or aspiring or hobbyist, and if latter two, what does that look like?

Will I be published by my 36th birthday? Likely not. But can I consider myself a working writer? I think so. 

I am not sure what other working writers look like, but for me it is having "office hours" and measurable goals. I have a set time that I write on specific days of the week, just like any other job one might hold. I also have deadlines and projects that keep me moving in a positive direction. I would call this working. So long as I keep these routines and these intentions, I would consider myself a working writer, whether no other soul ever reads a word I write.

If you are interested in reading what others have to say about this question, please follow the link behind the badge below. You will find many, many blogs here, and can hop to any you please for interesting perspectives. 

Special thanks to the  awesome co-hosts for the October 7 posting of the IWSG: Jemima Pett, Beth Camp, Beverly Stowe McClure, and Gwen Gardner!

Feedback:  I would love your feedback about the new colors and font on the blog. I was trying to match my style a little better, but still want it to be accessible to readers.