crisis chatter
The last few days have put such stress on me that I find blogging and journal-writing (I generally keep a daily journal, which I’ve been doing for near twenty-five years, first on paper, and then on a personal computer since the mid-nineties, and I only post some of my journal entries to my blog) even more of a questionable activity than usual.
The stress I’m feeling is due to my having been accused of something as a foster-carer. I don’t know what, or by whom, but apparently I’m under investigation. The effect has been to undermine my motivation to do anything.
Lack of motivation, and faithlessness, have been important themes throughout my stop-start writing life. I think a lot of people get much of their motivation and energy from the effect of their actions upon others. Actually being able to witness an impact and an influence. Also, success is a great motivator. When I had a novel published in 1997, it was very energising. The novel wasn’t actually published until 13 months after I’d signed a contract with the publisher, so by the time of publication I had almost finished a second book, which the same publisher was expressing some interest in. I was starting to think hopefully about a career as a writer, and ideas were buzzing about in my brain.
The first novel was a commercial failure, as well as receiving a couple of surprisingly hostile crits. Not easy for a self-absorbed thin-skinned egotist like me to take. The publisher held on to the MS of the second novel for ages without giving me a firm answer, and naturally my hopes began to fade. I was also very uncertain myself about the quality of my writing and whether I was a ‘fiction’ writer at all, bearing in mind that I’d done far more in the way of journal writing than fiction.
However, I knew that there was no real market for my journal writing. Much of it was trivial and self-indulgent, though just occasionally I would confound my low opinion of myself by hitting my straps and expressing what I thought was a genuine insight in what I thought was genuinely original language.
What to do, though, with these moments of quality?
Well, now I’ve discovered blogging, though still I’m unsure what to do with it. To write about my own life and opinions was easiest, but I also have to admit that from an external perspective my life isn’t much chop, and my opinions, on political issues for example, are hardly as informed as would be those with high and vast connections, and the historical perspectives gained from being constantly in the field. I’m a mere dilettante, who would be heavily reliant on other bloggers and journos for info. There would be little opportunity to make an original contribution.
Thinking about things like this made me hesitant and lost. I was better when I simply wrote, without thinking too much. Sure, nobody was reading my work, and I would love to get a discussion going, but most who view my blogs are too busy with their own, and those blogs that get a lot of commentary tend to be well-established and probably better informed than I am. Still, this shouldn’t stop me from pressing on, writing, commenting elsewhere, and trying gradually to learn about the technical side to make myself more accessible. So that’s what I’m doing, and oscillating between enthusiasm and despair, until something like this happens, this accusation, which makes me look up and realise that I’m in a precarious and vulnerable position financially and in other ways, that I’m middle-aged, loveless, childless, overly reclusive, and faced with a very uncertain future. Is it really wise to just keep on like this? I have no answer.
The stress I’m feeling is due to my having been accused of something as a foster-carer. I don’t know what, or by whom, but apparently I’m under investigation. The effect has been to undermine my motivation to do anything.
Lack of motivation, and faithlessness, have been important themes throughout my stop-start writing life. I think a lot of people get much of their motivation and energy from the effect of their actions upon others. Actually being able to witness an impact and an influence. Also, success is a great motivator. When I had a novel published in 1997, it was very energising. The novel wasn’t actually published until 13 months after I’d signed a contract with the publisher, so by the time of publication I had almost finished a second book, which the same publisher was expressing some interest in. I was starting to think hopefully about a career as a writer, and ideas were buzzing about in my brain.
The first novel was a commercial failure, as well as receiving a couple of surprisingly hostile crits. Not easy for a self-absorbed thin-skinned egotist like me to take. The publisher held on to the MS of the second novel for ages without giving me a firm answer, and naturally my hopes began to fade. I was also very uncertain myself about the quality of my writing and whether I was a ‘fiction’ writer at all, bearing in mind that I’d done far more in the way of journal writing than fiction.
However, I knew that there was no real market for my journal writing. Much of it was trivial and self-indulgent, though just occasionally I would confound my low opinion of myself by hitting my straps and expressing what I thought was a genuine insight in what I thought was genuinely original language.
What to do, though, with these moments of quality?
Well, now I’ve discovered blogging, though still I’m unsure what to do with it. To write about my own life and opinions was easiest, but I also have to admit that from an external perspective my life isn’t much chop, and my opinions, on political issues for example, are hardly as informed as would be those with high and vast connections, and the historical perspectives gained from being constantly in the field. I’m a mere dilettante, who would be heavily reliant on other bloggers and journos for info. There would be little opportunity to make an original contribution.
Thinking about things like this made me hesitant and lost. I was better when I simply wrote, without thinking too much. Sure, nobody was reading my work, and I would love to get a discussion going, but most who view my blogs are too busy with their own, and those blogs that get a lot of commentary tend to be well-established and probably better informed than I am. Still, this shouldn’t stop me from pressing on, writing, commenting elsewhere, and trying gradually to learn about the technical side to make myself more accessible. So that’s what I’m doing, and oscillating between enthusiasm and despair, until something like this happens, this accusation, which makes me look up and realise that I’m in a precarious and vulnerable position financially and in other ways, that I’m middle-aged, loveless, childless, overly reclusive, and faced with a very uncertain future. Is it really wise to just keep on like this? I have no answer.
posted by Stewart at 12:37 pm
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