I got my biweekly pep-talk (via email) from Jenn this morning. Her timing is amazing–I’d just gotten back into that whole “Who am I to think I can do this?” mentality. My partner Fey, who is the Queen of All Patience, talked me down from quitting the new novel entirely last night. And Jennifer, out of the blue, reminded me that I have to PERSIST. How crazy is that?
I work a full-time job and have a full-time relationship. I enjoy the occasional five hours of sleep a night, and even watch television sometimes. I try to carve out two full hours of writing a day, which doesn’t seem like much, but I can get quite a lot done in a focused two hours.
Recently, however, I’ve been sleeping through my two hours–just so tired and depressed and hopeless. It started creeping back into my subconscious, those thoughts that success was for other people, that talent isn’t enough, and that I just don’t have what it takes to make my dreams come true.
Then, of course, I got the refill on my Prozac and things are starting to look up.
My book is not the Worst Piece of Crap Ever Committed to Paper.
I am not the Laziest Person in the Universe.
I am not Born to Be a Failure.
I can watch the occasional episode of Desperate Housewives or Eastwick (Damn you, ABC, for cancelling this show!) without being a total slacker.
I just need to PERSIST. Turn on the laptop. Write another thousand words. I can write a thousand words in my sleep–sometimes, they come out better that way. Send another query letter.
I just need to persist. And lighten the hell up.
That’s right, it’s Metaphysic Monday here at Ye Olde Day Job(TM). Time for deep conversations between reports and calls, pondering the depths of corporate philosophy over the cubicle walls. We’ve decided that our entire center is one big psychiastric experiment, and we’re all lab rats used for the sole purpose of data-gathering. We’re expected to go about our maze, preferably without the knowledge that we’re in a maze, chasing that nibble of cheese and living our little ratlike lives. The guys in the white coats at Corporate monitor our progress, observe our little rodent hierachies, and jot things down in their steno pads. It’s nothing personal–we’re just rats, and we can’t be expected to understand the things people in white coats write on steno pads.
That’s a pretty typical Monday morning in my office.
This is why I need to become a full-time writer. At least then I’ll know I’m a rat….