Walls

I’ve been absent from my blog for the last several weeks, but not from writing.  I started writing Morning Pages (essentially a journaling exercise), documenting and observing in my beautiful Moleskine notebook, creating unexpected art, and (of utmost importance) have been writing The Book.  It’s NaNoWriMo and I’ve been riding that energy, but yesterday was awful.  Although I have completed 1 section (there are 5 total) I was arrogant (read: stupid) enough to think I could get the whole book drafted this month.  I thought this until I’d sent the first section to some friends for review and sat down to start the second section.

The chirping of crickets filled my ears, my head, my soul, accompanied by the BWAHAHAHAHAHAH of the inner critic, and the absolute truth that what I was writing was total shit.

This is the first time I’ve ever hit this particular wall, and I am now fully aware of why it’s so cold and heartbreaking.  That self-doubt (I can’t say this well, my writing is crap, this story is stupid, I’m an idiot, other people will be hurt/mad/whatever) carried over into every aspect of my life.  My interactions with people were yuck, I bailed on an event I’d paid for, and tried to fall asleep at 7:30 in the evening to avoid having to think.

It was horrendous.

Today, I’m facing the reality that I will not complete all five sections by the end of November – I have no idea when I’ll complete them.  The sense of urgency to finish – to get the work into the world – has only increased, but I feel like my capacity is diminished.  I’m also taking the opportunity to thrash myself a bit for wasting all this precious time.  “You’ll never have another opportunity like this!” say the voices.  “How many people get the luxury of time between jobs to create?” say the voices. “This topic is so relevant, so timely, HOW ARE YOU NOT DONE YET?!” scream the voices. “What makes you think that what you’re saying is real?  What if you’re a delusional psycho?” whisper the voices.

I’ve had similar experiences in other areas of my life, and I have to believe the same axiom holds:

pass1

That last bit isn’t traditional, but it’s honest.

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