There’s basically nothing good that happens when you’re a scribbler. You overanalyze everything so that any positivity you have on subjects eventually fades, you feel alienated from everybody, you always want to be drunk, you hate your writing, people hate your writing (or they just don’t read it), yet you somehow expect yourself to make dough out of it. You also probably have depression and anxiety and a slight case of mood disorders, whatever those mean. I seriously don’t even know why I still write, other than there’s some part of me that feels abandoned when I don’t. While these points are common knowledge, nothing new, below are four other painful aspects of writing which don’t get enough attention.
1. Packing/Staying Organized – Sometimes—If I want to work on story #2, scratch that—if I think I’m capable of looking at story #2 and maybe even adding a few words, I should bring it with me. Same goes with article x. And if I can’t do either, then I should bring some scratch paper to get this head and hand moving. Now, where is essay y? Realistically speaking, that’s what I should be working on. Scratch it for now. I’ll bring these two, and the scratch paper. And if writing is just going to feel like death this morning, I should bring the novel to read. Ah, that’s in the car. Ready to go. Twenty minutes have passed while I pack all corresponding scraps and notes—wait, wasn’t this my writing hour?
2. Isolation— At times sitting in sweet silence is the most satisfying experience in the world. I don’t want friends, family or girlfriends, I think. Everything I could possibly want is right here. I should move to the country and pay $100 for a little box. Forget these big cities. Other times: Damn it, I hate this room, I hate me, I hate my writing and where the hell are my friends and why are they not calling? Don’t they know I’m too unstable to be left alone like this? I guess you just sort of go on and fluctuate between the two.
3. Answering Questions –“What do you write about?” a friend of a friend asked me. I think my response was one of the best things I ever said, and that says a lot since I’m pretty convinced everything that comes out of my mouth is utterly brilliant. “No idea,” I said. “I binge on coffee and hope for the best.” She looked at me with a crooked mouth, confused, but it was seriously the first time I ever felt satisfied with my response to that question. Even worse is the following: “What do you plan on doing with your writing?” What are you trying to do to me?
4. Finishing — If I could get a few bucks for each story or article I abandoned seventy percent of the way through, I wouldn’t be a millionaire, but I’d for sure be able to, like, make a down payment on a decent house. I’d be considering retirement.
But, as my least favorite teacher used to say, keep writing.