(no subject)
It's a pretty pathetic way to live coupled with what can only be described as pathetic work ethic. Those two lovely things and of course a bad habit of always picking what's wrong for me. Hell no will I choose the path of creation that'll actually work out for me and do good things to help progress my career and my art. Fuck that. I might as well waste hours and hours of my time trying for something I can't achieve for shallow reasons such as, but not limited too: ease of portability, respect within the artistic community from people who are mostly assholes whom I hate anyway; blatant and bland insecurity about what I create to a point of almost narcissistic parnoia.
Beautiful, isn't it?
Let's face it though, writing is really the only solid thing I have going for me, and even that's barely there. Not that I'm a shitty writer. I'll be honest for a second here and get rid of all my humility--when I put my heart into it I am a damn good writer. There really is no debate about that one in my head. But the paranoia and the apparent lack of work ethic I have keeps me from really taking it anywhere. Yeah, I've got a book published. And no, nobody bought it. But hey, I wrote it for me right? Or did I just use that as a bullshit excuse to explain why it didn't sell beforehand? And then did I re-use it as another bullshit excuse for letting the company I published for convince me to sell it for a price much more than it's worth that I can no longer change? Yes to both.
Whatever though, right? I'm working on another book now that'll be out sometime soon. The ironic thing about this one is that'll it be much longer than the first one and not much more expensive. Why? Because I've finally realized what my work is worth. That's why. If I'm only going to put half of myself into it, why should you, the good people, pay for the whole thing?
The only complication at this point is deciding within myself whether or not I actually believe any of what I'm saying here or it's just that God damned self-doubt thing I have going for me taking over again.
Beautiful, isn't it?
Let's face it though, writing is really the only solid thing I have going for me, and even that's barely there. Not that I'm a shitty writer. I'll be honest for a second here and get rid of all my humility--when I put my heart into it I am a damn good writer. There really is no debate about that one in my head. But the paranoia and the apparent lack of work ethic I have keeps me from really taking it anywhere. Yeah, I've got a book published. And no, nobody bought it. But hey, I wrote it for me right? Or did I just use that as a bullshit excuse to explain why it didn't sell beforehand? And then did I re-use it as another bullshit excuse for letting the company I published for convince me to sell it for a price much more than it's worth that I can no longer change? Yes to both.
Whatever though, right? I'm working on another book now that'll be out sometime soon. The ironic thing about this one is that'll it be much longer than the first one and not much more expensive. Why? Because I've finally realized what my work is worth. That's why. If I'm only going to put half of myself into it, why should you, the good people, pay for the whole thing?
The only complication at this point is deciding within myself whether or not I actually believe any of what I'm saying here or it's just that God damned self-doubt thing I have going for me taking over again.