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You know how in all bad sitcoms there's always one episode where somebody develops some mild addiction and their friends all say something like, "If you can make it through one night in the same room with whatever you're addicted to, you'll beat the addiction?" You know that plot? It was used a lot in the 80's.
I think I may have just had one of those moments. For a long time, I thought of myself as a capital-W Writer. Never mind that I very seldom actually WROTE anything. Never mind that. For a while, it was all I talked about. I spent a lot of time angsting about I should be writing this and what a great story idea that. And I didn't write jack. A while back, I came to the realization that the only person I was fooling with the whole thing was myself. So I thought fine, I'll stop writing and now no one will ever know what literary gems I could have produced. Never mind that I had not to that point actually produced any literary gems (precious or semi-) in the first place. Never mind that.
Sweet Buddha, is this what enlightenment feels like? It's been as if the albatross has been removed from around my neck. For months, I've been able to enjoy myself without thinking that Oh My God Why Am I Not Writing I Bet David Sedaris Is Writing Right Now. It's been none of that. But occasionally I still felt a little twinge, and on a number of occasions I nearly relapsed, usually whenever I'd read about some writing contest or find out somebody was soliciting manuscripts for some publication or another.
But then, a couple of weeks ago, I found out that White Wolf was having a fiction contest. It occurred to me to put together a submission, but I rejected the idea out of hand. Not only did I immediately reject the idea, but I didn't angst about it, and I certainly never tormented my friends and loved ones with dronings about how I should put together a submission. And now, the deadline has passed, and I feel not scintilla of guilt about not entering. In fact, I feel pretty good. The only doubt that nags at my mind is that I may have missed the premiere of the new episodes of Family Guy. (Did I miss the premiere of the new episodes of Family Guy?)
I think I may have just had one of those moments. For a long time, I thought of myself as a capital-W Writer. Never mind that I very seldom actually WROTE anything. Never mind that. For a while, it was all I talked about. I spent a lot of time angsting about I should be writing this and what a great story idea that. And I didn't write jack. A while back, I came to the realization that the only person I was fooling with the whole thing was myself. So I thought fine, I'll stop writing and now no one will ever know what literary gems I could have produced. Never mind that I had not to that point actually produced any literary gems (precious or semi-) in the first place. Never mind that.
Sweet Buddha, is this what enlightenment feels like? It's been as if the albatross has been removed from around my neck. For months, I've been able to enjoy myself without thinking that Oh My God Why Am I Not Writing I Bet David Sedaris Is Writing Right Now. It's been none of that. But occasionally I still felt a little twinge, and on a number of occasions I nearly relapsed, usually whenever I'd read about some writing contest or find out somebody was soliciting manuscripts for some publication or another.
But then, a couple of weeks ago, I found out that White Wolf was having a fiction contest. It occurred to me to put together a submission, but I rejected the idea out of hand. Not only did I immediately reject the idea, but I didn't angst about it, and I certainly never tormented my friends and loved ones with dronings about how I should put together a submission. And now, the deadline has passed, and I feel not scintilla of guilt about not entering. In fact, I feel pretty good. The only doubt that nags at my mind is that I may have missed the premiere of the new episodes of Family Guy. (Did I miss the premiere of the new episodes of Family Guy?)
