Quite frankly, I don’t want to write tonight. So I’m not going to. I’m going to carry on having a good day, without fighting to find something worth writing about, or performing some soul-searching exercise.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel like writing.
When I decided to take on NaBloPoMo, I knew it would be a challenge. I don’t do daily things very well. I always end up having one day that doesn’t pan out, that interrupts the flow, and then I give up. I stop completely. I accept defeat.
Yesterday was the second time I haven’t posted in the less than two weeks of this month of daily posts. That’s pretty piss poor performance.
But I’m forcing myself to write now. As much as I really don’t want to, would rather work on something else, and can’t think of anything to write about, this is me forcing myself to not give in.
It isn’t just with writing, though. Anything that involves a rigid structure — or even a structure that I could perceive as rigid — is a problem. I don’t do well without structure, either, though. I need to find the right balance of structure and freedom.
The problem is that I’ve never found that balance. Never.
I honestly don’t know if it even exists. I might just need to keep fighting with myself to find whatever is the closest to that balance.
We woke up early, before the sun was properly shining. I enjoyed getting out early yesterday, but was too tired this morning. I had great plans, though. None of them happened.
1. I would take Jack to the beach. After failing to get a parking space on a sunny Sunday, I thought Monday would give us more of a chance. Instead, we both fell asleep.
2. I would take Jack to a National Trust property. Instead, he fell asleep on my lap.
3. I would take Jack to Tesco. Instead, he watched me tidy the kitchen and played with a teether.
4. I would walk the trash bag down to the end of the road with Jack. Instead, we worked on sitting and invented a game called ‘daredevil baby’.
5. I would get Jack to sleep on time and do some writing tonight. Instead, he fell asleep, then woke up again, had a massive tantrum, and has been sleeping on my lap for several hours.
Oh well… it was still a nice day.
I would like to consider myself a shameless self-promoter. I’d be lying, but it’s a nice lie, right?
In reality, I pretend to pimp myself out, big myself up, and all that jive, but I don’t actually do any of it. I shyly ignore my own blog posts, rarely update my portfolio, and generally let things fester in an unpromoted oblivion.
Much like the fear of writing, I think this stems from a fear of failure. Yes, I’ve written, but if nobody actually reads it, it doesn’t matter that it was utter and total crap. A tree falling in the woods, only with writing and the internet.
I’d love to be a writing sensation, with legions of fans. However, I want it to happen spontaneously. I don’t want to actually ask for those fans.
Case in point, my Facebook fan page. I have one. It’s unpublished. I can’t bring myself to publish it and have it out there, where people can see — in a concrete number — how many people ‘like’ me as a writer. That utterly terrifies me. It’s a recipe for failure, as far as I’m concerned. So it sits unpublished, doing nothing for me, giving me no promotion whatsoever.
I don’t know how to get myself over this hump of promotion, or if I really want to get over it. Self-promotion is time consuming. Self-promotion takes effort. Self-promotion is icky. Why would I want to do it?
But I know that my current plan — writing, allowing the automated Twitter post, and little else — isn’t working. It’s time I get over my fear of promotion.
Then again, maybe I’ll wait until I’ve written something good…
One of my big struggles as a ‘blogger’ is deciding what the point of this blog is. At the moment, it’s split between diary entries, essays on a wide range of subjects, anecdotes, and recipes. It’s a bit of everything and a bit of nothing.
I think if I was just doing this to please myself, this could be fine. But, if I’m honest, I’m not. I want an audience. I want people to read all this crap. But the reality is that one post will appeal to one audience, while another will appeal to another, and other posts won’t appeal to anyone.
I have no niche for my blogging, and this is a big problem.
I don’t know what I want my niche to be, though. That’s also a big problem. I do like dithering on about random topics, but I know that’s not a long-term blogging solution. At least not in the way I want to write.
At the base of it all, I think I fear committing to one idea. I don’t want to limit myself to one subject. Whether this is fear that I’ll choose the wrong one — the one nobody cares to read — or that I’ll choose something I lose interest in after a few posts, is something I don’t know.
I’m not sure how to choose a focus. I don’t think I have enough readers to even get input from the audience. But I know I need to choose something if I’m going to ever do something besides type into the ether.
I don’t particularly want to write tonight. I didn’t write yesterday, and that makes it even more difficult to come up with something today. I seem to work with some writing inertia pushing me along. When I stop, I stop.
So today I’m trying to write and it’s a struggle. I don’t know what to write about, and I don’t know where to begin. Everything is a distraction and I allow myself to be distracted too easily.
This isn’t a new problem. This is my procrastination and writer’s block all coming together and I just seize up. This is not a good thing for somebody who purports to be a professional writer. It’s what has kept me back for many years; it keeps me from finishing things and it keeps me from starting things.
I read something recently about writer’s block being a fear of rejection (this is a very rough summary of a good article somewhere) and I think there’s a very valid idea there. If you don’t write, you don’t show that you aren’t very good. When the novel or blog post is unwritten, you are a genius. When it’s out there, it’s out there. It’s there to be judged and criticized. That’s when everyone knows you’re a fraud.
Of course, getting things written is also the only way to succeed. There’s no possible success in not writing. Just a massive amount of frustration. Hopefully tomorrow writing will come a bit easier.
I don’t think of myself as not having a well-rounded life. For the most part, I enjoy my days. I don’t go to bed each night feeling oppressed by some horrible situation I’ve landed myself in.
And then I have one of those questionnaires that asks what I do for fun. What are my hobbies? What do I do outside of work?
I know this is the question that I’m supposed to answer with things like jet skiing, gardening, rambling, and macrame. Things that make me sound interesting, or that make me sound cultured, or that make me sound like I do something.
My hobbies? Going for aimless drives. Watching TV of various quality. Collecting ugly cat figurines, Star Wars toys, typewriters, and books. Looking at things on the internet.
But how can you put that on some sort of health questionnaire where you’re trying to prove that you aren’t a shut in with severe depression, or on the verge of some sort of hoarding crisis? You can’t. So I leave it blank.
This has never not backfired for me. I then get asked in person what I do other than work. Then I have to do the hmming right then and there, trying to think of how I can phrase ‘driving, TV, collecting, and the internet’ in an awesome way.
Maybe I don’t need to make them sound awesome. Maybe this is me being some sort of geek chic. Maybe in 15 years, the hipster kids of Jack’s generation will all go for drives, collect ugly cats, toys, typewriters, and books, watch tv and look at things on the internet.
Probably not. It’ll probably still be a set of hobbies you don’t want to write on a form.