I woke up sideways today, that is too say my perspective is skewed and morose. It’s a dark, overcast day and it’s supposed to start raining any minute. Perhaps, I didn’t sleep very well. I woke up to a strange sound in my apartment. As if a swarm of locusts had invaded the living room. Or the sound of bat wings flapping against the living room walls. I might have been dreaming but it woke me straight up out of bed and I could feel a cold fear in the pit of my stomach as I went out into the living room to check. I was actually surprise when there was nothing there other than my cat Pandora sprawled out on the table. After I removed her from the table, I went back to bed and listened to the sounds of fire engines race down the street outside my window for ten minutes. *sigh * It was well after 1:30 before I finally went to sleep only to be woken up by my cat knocking the remote control off my desk and breaking it into a dozen pieces as it hit the wood floor at 5:30 in the morning. I should’ve just stayed up. Anyway, I’m in a rotten mood and despite the strong coffee I’ve had, I’ve been trying to wake up while I listen to Mozart’s opera, Don Giovianni. Dramatic much?
Anyway, I found out yesterday that I didn’t get a writing grant that I tried out for, Ergh! Chalk up another rejection letter. It would have been a substantial amount, one I could have used to allow me some time to write without having to work full time. It’s disheartening to say the least. Intellectually, I know the odds were not in my favor, I was one in 4,000+ applicants. There are folks more established, with more of a track record, hell…with more talent. Every time I get a rejection letter I just grumble and pace in front of my computer. It reminds me of that line in Brokeback Mountain, “I wish I could quit you.” Very dramatic I know. And to be clear, I don’t want to quit because of the rejection letter. I think it just brings up all my old insecurities and they flutter around me, spiral me away from the work. The work that I’ve needed to reconstruct after losing my hard drive two weeks ago. I know its par for the course but damn it to hell I really wish that hadn’t happened. I’m being abstract but not on purpose. The self-doubts double in size on days like this. I begin to question the work and how good or bad it is and whether or not I should be doing it at all. Even as I write this…I’m bubbling up with emotions because there is nothing else I’d rather be doing. But it’s so far from finished. In the two years since I’ve started working on this novel, there are other writers who have written two and three full-length novels. It’s not a race…it’s not a race…it’s not a race. But the hungry, ambitious part of me wants this project to be done so I can start on the next one.
So now I am sitting at my desk, my palms pressing into my eyeballs, trying to stop the self-pity from taking center stage. I’m frustrated. I know I promised not to whinge on this blog and for the most part, I do my best to keep a lot of this out but today is the exception to the rule. I’m on edge and I just need to rattle this out in hopes of getting back on track afterwards. I am going to spend the afternoon writing maybe, just maybe, this feeling will pass.
Peace,
L~
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