“This year, I’M WRITING A BOOK!” I declared and have declared many times since… but the thought of a single story (with its multiple sub-plots), fully developed characters (and some minor players), lives intertwining with events that are evolving… I’m exhausted before I even start. Oh, and I don’t have a story. (I don’t even have a story idea.) So…that novel and/or novella is going to have to sit on a shelf and collect dust (hah… you see how clever I am?!).
“I’ll write a collection of short stories,” I decided. And I could work with that. I’ve decided what genre, I’ve even got a few tall tales half written (although they need tweaking to fit in with the new direction I keep giving it), and I’ve got plenty of ideas for more. I even like the ideas I’ve got. But I have no time to write, and when I do have the time, I don’t have the energy, and when I have the energy, I’m around people are far more entertaining than my blank word document, and when I force my word document to not be blank, I end up filling it with crap. And although I know people are sheep and easily buy crap, I don’t want to be selling it. (There will be someone or the other, if not an entire population, that will see just how much your shit sucks.) And I don’t want to publish shit that sucks. So…
“I should write another blog post,” I think to myself (hah…see again how clever I am?) and so if I’m not inspired and don’t give into whatever writing compulsion that seizes me, I ponder for days over what is worthy of making in on here. Clearly I give up and settle for mediocre a lot (but really, that Okapi is pretty awesome), and then I’m disappointed by how I’m boring on my online forum where I could, technically, make up stuff so people would be like, “Oh, em, gee, this chick is so hardcore,” … but that doesn’t happen either.
I don’t know why I have such high expectation for myself, I don’t even update my facebook status that much.