So Happy V-day or whatevs… better late than never, yes?….
Howdy Doods. I know it’s been awhile. I have no excuse, not really. I’ve dutifully signed in every day for the past 3 weeks (sans my revelry-ridden weekends), intent to share. But every time I opened up a new post… I just sat there, staring dumbly as the cursor mocked me with its syncopated blinking. Writer’s block is a bitch, it’s true. But methinks my hesitant hovering over keyboards has an additional source to blame…
Like many creatively-minded people, my sense of super-sassy-self-confidence is sincerely sensitive to cynicism. I strive to push a facade of indifference, but outside opinions truly affect me. Especially when those opinions lay poised on the lips of the important people in my life. In a nutshell, I was told that no one gave a shit what I thought or what I had to say about my extremely un-interesting life. At the time I said to myself, “Self, this may be true, but if David Sedaris can transform a simple broken tooth into an engrossing, insightful study on human nature, then there’s hope for all us… right?” Despite my lukewarm reassurances, the emotional blow was enough to cause an inward retreat to re-evaluate what (realistic) abilities I had to hone, and what talents were utterly contrived. I pride myself on my perceptive nature, and this left me feeling as though the world was suddenly askew. Any certainties I had regarding my writing, my voice, my character and its interaction with outside forces became glaringly uncertain.
During my severe internal monologue of self-doubt I began to mull over the nature of support and the little white lie. You know, that little fib you tell your girlfriend when she asks if she’s gained any weight, or when your grandmother inquires if you liked the tea cozy she gave you for Christmas. You could speak the truth, but it seems unnecessarily cruel. Instead, you don your most convincing smile and lovingly reassure her no way, you look great (because she does, regardless of what the scale says)! And, oh Grandma, I loooove it (because she made it herself, regardless of her mangled, arthritic hands)!
Then there are those times when you worry that those little white lies may do more harm than good; or rather, that falsely reassuring someone you love will inevitably lead to their disappointment. Like your sister’s pre-teen dreams of being a country singer (bless her heart, her voice just isn’t that great), or your brother’s determination to make silly ties ironically cool (um… no. that will never happen darlin’). What do you do? Do you live the lie, come hell or high water? Or do you sheepishly attempt a reality check?
I hate those situations, because in the end someone is left with a wounded ego and a slightly greyer worldview. Sounds a bit dramatic, I know, but think about it! We’ve all had that moment, whether someone told us to our face, or we awoke from the half-baked dream ourselves. So I found myself after such a harsh denunciation. I had lived so long at least half-heartedly believing I could compose decent prose. Decent enough to make even the most mundane reports mildly entertaining…. but perhaps not… And then I said to myself, “Damn. Self, why didn’t you tell me this?? WHY WASN’T I INFORMED??”
Beforehand, a myriad of post ideas fluttered around my brain like adorable, witty little butterflies. After that, they panicked and fled. I was left with a blank slate and absolutely no idea how to rebound. I still have no idea. After weeks of half-hearted attempts and an overflowing virtual refuse bin, I threw up my hands and just said to myself, “Self? FUCK IT. Just keep writing”. “They” say that you have to rid yourself of 10,000 bad pages before you get 1 decent one. I guess we’ll consider this page #98.
Current jam: “Wonderwall” Oasis