It's been a hard slog the last couple of days when it comes to writing. I can't quite decide what I want to work on and find myself hopping between three projects, pecking away a little at each. I don't think that's a good strategy long term but I find myself stuck and in a downswing in terms of story and a bit paralyzed by imposter syndrome. Everything that I come up with seems so contrived and bad.
I've definitely been here before. I think most people who are creative find themselves here sometimes if not often. I ... am telling myself unconvincingly to go through the work and to focus on one thing at a time. Ironically, this blog has been an anchor for the past couple of weeks, so I'm glad I got this, at least.
What a consolation prize. I am currently hopping between writing and thinking and watching and reading and everything seems a jumbled mess or inconceivable height and why even bother trying to climb when some things and people are just clearly at another level. WHO CAN RELATE? That's a bad Logic reference.
I work hard everydayayayayay....
Writing sometimes can be such an up and down thing. When I have a story or scene or character nailed it's some kind of high. An amazing thrill knowing that what you created works and you're the cool badass mofo behind it. You live for those moments. High brow it's finding that nugget of truth or whatever, but low brow it's just ego, honestly - I made this. I willed it into existence.
Nothing quite like it. Those who know are those who crave. And then there's the opposite feeling.
The ego death. The hesitancy. The fear. Of nothingness. Of contrivance. Foolishness. For even attempting. Comparing. Dreaming. Doing? For who are you to think it through, the lives of those beyond your own. Is it arrogant to even try?
I don't know. Probably. Certainly feels that way right now. But this too shall pass.
So sayeth the Toilet Paper Sages.
Covid be thy crown.