Consumed by The Fear, the leaden knot in the pit of the stomach, the Charlie Brown raincloud lingering overhead.
But it’s also a cruel moment of clarity, as if finally seeing the thousands of hours spent in the pursuit of creating something worthwhile for the laughable conceit that it is. Feeling pathetic for not seeing it earlier, for deluding myself. My writing is bad. No, worse than that, my writing is mediocre. It’s fine. Fucking fine. It’s wallpaper. So who am I kidding?
Look at other people in the street, unburdened by such grand, ridiculous pretensions, and feel simultaneous envy for them and loathing for myself.
So what to do? I can’t plumb. I can’t electric. Words are all I have. I just have to write through it. That’s all there is. Stop feeling sorry for myself and let every word on the page accumulate and suppress The Fear.
For a while at least.
Just thought I’d explain where I’ve been for the last few days 🙂
Hope you’re all in a better place.
Just Punch The Clock 