WRITER'S GUILT...
Due to my case of winter blahs (see previous blog) I have now come down with an attack of Writer's Guilt. Great isn't it?
Not only do I have exercise guilt (yes I will walk, maybe tomorrow) and food guilt (how did those chips follow me home?) and of course the old favourite of parental guilt (how did my children survive and turn out to be fully functioning human beings?)... I also have Writer's Guilt. Capitals are necessary.
Of course I'm not new to writers guilt. I think very few writers are. Being human, we can't help but compare ourselves to others...and when we KNOW that such and such not only keeps down a full time job but has produced a 50 000 word novel in six months we can't help but wonder what on earth are we doing with our time.
I begin to wonder if sleep is needed. I have a friend who is very prolific in her arts who seems to exist on a sniff of sleep for months on end. Alas, sleep is my friend. I can't function on little.
I have tried to be reasonable, to assess the situation in a calm and logical manner.
Still comes down to the fact that I am disappointed in myself. That I feel I'm not doing enough, putting enough words on the page, as to sending stuff out there...I can't help but wonder when was the last time I did that.
I know that the majority of writers are their own worst critics. That we are so much more forgiving of others.
I'm sure that if someone in my writers group, who usually works hard each month, with maybe not a huge list but a list of accomplishments at the end of the year, had a month - or perhaps even two- when they weren't feeling their best and felt they needed time off....I would tell them that they need it.
Take time off...have a rest...chill out for awhile...forget this notion of guilt hanging over your head.
If it was someone else I would say that- but because it is me (see above mention of being own worst critic) then I begin to question everything from motive to ability.
And of course the more you query and pull apart, and tug and prod and poke and leave yourself open and vulnerable....the devil lurks eager to take over.
But I've given myself a pep talk...or fish slap in other words. Pull yourself together, I've told myself.
You say you haven't written...is this true?
No...it's not true.
I look over what has been accomplished in the past month--- without giving myself the option to feeling disappointed or uber critical.
I have written. Not a lot. I won't be singing word counts from the mountains, but I have written. Daily...no and frankly I have never written daily.
There are some days, especially after a full on OMG day at work when it's a struggle to cook something for tea then vague out in front of the telly, (see school holidays).
Or days when the sun shines and the garden calls.
So what exactly is my problem?
Ah there are so many demons lurking in my mind, self doubt being the loudest...however.... I can begin to kick this guilt to the curb.
I am NOT doing nothing.
I AM writing. It may not be a lot, it may not be great or even good...but I am still DOING.
So as the guilt slithers out the door I can realise that sometimes I want to write, some days I have to write, but other days I simply can't be bothered.
And thats all right.
Not only do I have exercise guilt (yes I will walk, maybe tomorrow) and food guilt (how did those chips follow me home?) and of course the old favourite of parental guilt (how did my children survive and turn out to be fully functioning human beings?)... I also have Writer's Guilt. Capitals are necessary.
Of course I'm not new to writers guilt. I think very few writers are. Being human, we can't help but compare ourselves to others...and when we KNOW that such and such not only keeps down a full time job but has produced a 50 000 word novel in six months we can't help but wonder what on earth are we doing with our time.
I begin to wonder if sleep is needed. I have a friend who is very prolific in her arts who seems to exist on a sniff of sleep for months on end. Alas, sleep is my friend. I can't function on little.
Still comes down to the fact that I am disappointed in myself. That I feel I'm not doing enough, putting enough words on the page, as to sending stuff out there...I can't help but wonder when was the last time I did that.
I know that the majority of writers are their own worst critics. That we are so much more forgiving of others.
I'm sure that if someone in my writers group, who usually works hard each month, with maybe not a huge list but a list of accomplishments at the end of the year, had a month - or perhaps even two- when they weren't feeling their best and felt they needed time off....I would tell them that they need it.
Take time off...have a rest...chill out for awhile...forget this notion of guilt hanging over your head.
And of course the more you query and pull apart, and tug and prod and poke and leave yourself open and vulnerable....the devil lurks eager to take over.
But I've given myself a pep talk...or fish slap in other words. Pull yourself together, I've told myself.
You say you haven't written...is this true?
No...it's not true.
I look over what has been accomplished in the past month--- without giving myself the option to feeling disappointed or uber critical.
I have written. Not a lot. I won't be singing word counts from the mountains, but I have written. Daily...no and frankly I have never written daily.
There are some days, especially after a full on OMG day at work when it's a struggle to cook something for tea then vague out in front of the telly, (see school holidays).
Or days when the sun shines and the garden calls.
So what exactly is my problem?
Ah there are so many demons lurking in my mind, self doubt being the loudest...however.... I can begin to kick this guilt to the curb.
I am NOT doing nothing.
I AM writing. It may not be a lot, it may not be great or even good...but I am still DOING.
So as the guilt slithers out the door I can realise that sometimes I want to write, some days I have to write, but other days I simply can't be bothered.
And thats all right.
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