It’s been a little over a week since my last journal post and obviously, I landed on not continuing with the exercise. There were a few different things that influenced my decision, but overall, I can’t focus on keeping such close observation on my hourly habits for so long. Like I’ve mentioned before, routines always change for me – I naturally switch it up and change around every week or two.
So, my daily life looks different than it did a week ago and what it will look like next week probably.
This post is just a short update to summarize where I’m at and my intentions onward.
My participation in Camp NaNoWriMo has lessened considerably. When it comes to group support… I just don’t think I’m very good at it anymore. I do try, but… for me, when I attempt commiserating with fellow writers… I dunno, there’s a disconnect and my motivation actually lessens to share my writing with other people. Something about the whole interaction feels cheap and flimsy. It’s a strange response, but there it is. So, I’m switching cabins to see if there might be a better fit with a different group, but it’s probably just me.
I’m also far behind on my word-count goals for NaNo because I haven’t written on the manuscript in the past four days or so. I’ll be playing catch-up soon…. but I’m not going to force myself either. I joined Camp NaNo this year on a pure whim the day before it started, lol, so it’s not like I fully mentally prepared for the sudden deadline of wordcount on a brand new project manuscript.
And I have other things to be concerned with. Like how I keep scheduling writing tasks, but ignoring the schedules after about a week and having to go through the process all over again – in which, the planning increasingly seems like a waste of time itself! …How I want to publish certain things within the year, but time is passing by fast and will I get it done? Where should my focus be? How much will can I exert over my focus versus listening to my intuition and following it in a way that translates to productive results?
As a writer, I have become a recluse. My sensations of loneliness are the down swing of my acquired solitude. I don’t go anywhere to write – it is uncomfortable for me to sit in public and write. Aesthetically, I don’t care for the coffee-shop writer image and the implied status from taking up space in such a location purely to show people that you /are/ writing. It seems to be a way to reinforce the writing itself through illusionary status, similar to being part of a writer’s group. Not necessarily a bad thing, but I haven’t hit a point where that’s something I truly want to do – beyond the potential of alleviating loneliness. Who knows though, I might benefit from something like that… maybe I should experiment with going to Barnes & Noble Cafe and writing for a few hours? …..eh….
Part of it too is that I don’t like to frivolously spend money and that just seems like setting it up to spend money, either on coffee or food or even books if my willpower weakens while I am at B&N. It’s so much easier to save money when staying at home.
There’s the library, but for the life of me – I can never get comfortable in libraries anymore. No matter the chair or seat or whatever. Whether it’s trauma from all those late-night/early-morning study sessions while in University or something else, I just cannot find comfort in libraries, not enough to focus on my writing.
Plus, there’s the aspect that I am most definitely the type of writer that when I get into what I’m writing… I make faces, expressions, mumble random dialogue and narrative parts sometimes, groan in frustration, sometimes cry a little… I’ll catch myself part-way through a speed-write and I’m laughing, scoffing, making all kinds of out-of-context expressions. I can only imagine what it might look like when I’m in public, lol.
Not to mention that a key part of my writing process is to be able to stand suddenly and pace around, maybe eat a little, then return to writing. This is eccentric and since I don’t like to draw attention to myself in public, it is something part of me isn’t comfortable with revealing to others. I feel as if I cannot be myself in public, it’s a strong feeling as I was raised with the thought bludgeoned into my brain and haven’t yet been able to shake the anxiety of being watched by others and not act perfectly ‘normal’, so normal that I’m barely noticeable was ideal.
So, I write in the privacy of my home. I am the cottage-in-the-woods reclusive author, someone who would be overjoyed by cutting off all communication (barring the internet for research sake) and hiding away for 3-6 months while writing. It is this understanding that softens my momentary emotions of loneliness. The loneliness is not real, it is a perception born from a life that I want to live, but the insecurity to truly own it and discard mainstream society’s assumptions about it.
I have many insecurities. This is something I work to maintain awareness of. I struggle with myself to identify and work through my insecurities, to try and remove them as obstacles from my writing and art. While I logically understand that negative emotions are sometimes a part of life and necessary to process the realities of existence, I am hopelessly infatuated with bliss. So, when I notice negativity and feelings of less than, something is wrong and I seek to ‘fix it’ or ‘figure it out’ or anything else to return to claiming happiness in my emotions and get myself closer to beautiful blissful sensations of tranquility. I have moments of pure peace and astounding clarity, they are fleeting and spaced apart, but I desire to have those moments be the majority, the norm of my life. It is… very human of me, I believe.
For instance, the sheer self-loathing that arises when I try to paint now-a-days tells me that there is some deep-seated stuff that I still need to process and find a point of peace to obtain emotional tranquility to be the best I can be, my highest self unhindered by the niggling negativity that demands claim to my thoughts and heart. My pain signals points in my life and perception that could do with attentive insight to evolve into points of bliss instead.
I am so much better than my insecurity. I am so much more.
I write because I have many, many, many stories to tell, a few messages to give, and art to create for better or worse.
Fear and insecurity have their place, but they do not and will never be allowed to rule supreme in my steps along my path. There is so much learning for me to acquire through this path of being an indie author for however long I’m around, of sharing my imagination and creative potential with others, of finding opportunities in the future and flourishing like the flower of life that I am, like we all are.
Yes, I believe to succeed, but on my terms and within the context of my journey. The only failure I perceive is if I give up, throw in the towel, and never write again… and to be honest, the only way that’ll happen is if I’m dead or in a coma.
So, it’s not about failing or succeeding, it’s about the attention I place on this path as I live it and how I handle my own self while going through time, coming to terms with human existence.
With that said, my personal updates on this blog are going to revert to being a minimum and I’ll be placing focus on some articles about craft things I’ve been personally working through and dealing with, in regards to writing fiction. There might be something new coming along eventually, but you’ll see it when it does. ;)