I'm going to feel sorry for myself for a minute. You should go watch a cat video instead.

[blythechild]

Dammit. I wrote all weekend and still didn't manage to finish the WIP that seemed so achingly, deceptively close to being done. I mean, I wrote 9,000 words in 3 days and it's STILL NOT DONE??? Really, Brain? 32k isn't enough to get your point across? And it's just full of pining and misunderstandings and denial of stuff and it doesn't serve a purpose at all except to kick readers in the stomach over and over. I am SUCH a fucking girl when I write, and I marvel at this realization because I am so NOT a fucking girl in almost every other aspect of my life. My stuff is always about people and feelings (and an occasional explosion) and I wonder all the time about the limited appeal of these inwardly-focused tales. Shouldn't I be aiming higher? Shouldn't I want this stuff that I spend so much time working on to mean more? Should I just give up on this and add more breakdancing dinosaurs? I guess that I'm writing what I want to read - which is what everyone tells you to do - but I often have doubts about the worth of what I'm creating.

Man, I really love writing. I really, really do, but it's just like making art: I can't get the crazy, glittery, great shit inside my head down on the page. I have days all the time when I feel like nothing I produce makes an iota of difference. Who will remember any of this when the ATMs become sentient and rise up to erase the internet, huh?

Yeah, okay. Maybe I need more coffee...