Ever though what are the real life things that block your ability to create or concentrate on your work?
It seems I have found one thing that greatly decreases my ability to write. It seems so silly on first site, but as it is really bothering me lately more and more I need to do at least some writing to know I still got it. Getting older and seeing how those, who are born on the year I started writing are now reaching legal age to have sex and still not having a book out, despite being closer to it than ever before, I found myself surprisingly insecure, when my dad decided suddenly few months back in dark winter night to write his own book!
So if you are not in mood for drama, no need to read further. But I need to get this out and over with or it’s gonna eat me alive.
Usually I’m all thumbs up for new writers, but he decided it was going to be a biography of a sort. Ok, fun for fun – do it. But then after few months he was suddenly ready with 180 pages of family chronicles (which I AM against as I do NOT want to be in somebody else’s books. EVER!), went, had it it printed out and bind. That happened exactly three days after I had brought home the anthology and showed my first printed proof that I got published. And to saw then through the window how he got home with a box filled with 20 books of his own, I…
It blew my self esteem to the sky.
I have worked 18 years on writing, studied it, worked on stories, tried to get published and failed and watched how not one person came to read my writing blog after setting it up. Like, literally – six months and not one soul. That is “encouraging” enough to start crying. Oh, and darn depressing. And then watch him show up with self-published printed copies of his 180 pages long book has cut me in half.
It’s hard to keep repeating myself that what I do matters and I will find the way, when in end of that sentence there has always been “eventually” and then see someone do it, who does not have to wait behind money to get things printed and bind nor does he have to do it next to two jobs, because – here’s the punch line – he wrote it while I was working my ass off in HIS firm.
Yup, you read it right. I was cleaning forms and preparing the next round of concrete while he was sitting behind his computer and typing away… That was before announcing two days ago that he thinks he’ll be ready with the second book by this Friday.
I have literally sat with the editing version of my story on my desk, heavy heart weighing me down, because I know it will take at least half a year more before I’m even ready to send it to any agent and pondered over if I got served or not. Or if after all these years of work will I ever be seen good when he tosses his out in two months and considers sending it to local novel competition. The same one I failed.
I thought it will wash over. Just a bit of a set back and pseudo problem and all. But here rises the question – who cares?
To me writing has never been something that happens over night. It’s something that is balance between talent, work and learnt methods that are suppose to back you up, when you fail to come through with talent on the rainy days.
And then THIS happens. And I feel I might as well toss my work away and go on living my life as writing never happened. It was just something that was my territory. Something I was good at in the family and something I really cherish doing. But when he came around and tossed in the air that “Ha- I can do it too! Wanna see? Here you go! 180 pages!” I was struck down as if punched in the face. What does it matter now if I get published properly? Anyone I tell I have book published will have the first response of “So, you’re your father’s daughter.”
You think I’m joking?
My whole life has been like punch line after another. Do the work and then watch somebody else roll in, do less work and pass while you are sitting on in the corner. A sitcom of a sidekick.