Wagon

So. Have fallen off the wagon in terms of the 2 hour a day writing thing and am reconfiguring. I am definitely noticing that as soon as I make some big decision that will ultimately benefit my life and put me on a good path, there is immediate pushback (to use a consulting term) from my alter ego, EvilMcP. The past couple of weeks, EvilMcP has been freaking out, worrying about finances and what-all I'd actually committed to the page, as opposed to just frigging sitting down and doing the work. EMcP was dancing dancing dancing around, fanning the flames of my fear, and I was getting nowhere.

What I am discovering more and more is that I am a perfectionist, and not in a good way. I am a perfectionist to the point where if I am not going to do something in a way that is utterly perfect -- and in the case of my book, sit in front of my computer and write something that will win the National Book Award and the Pulitzer and a MacArthur Genius Grant, along with legions of hot bookish males showing up at readings for my autograph -- then I just will not do it at all.

Here, then, is my fear: I fear that I am a no-talent hack. I do not put this out there looking for compliments. I have heard from many people (including people, whose writing I admire, who read this very blog), for years, that I am good at this writing thing. I fear that I'm just some weirdo who sits in coffee shops, writing crap. The other day I was in one, writing, and ran into a friend of a friend who said, oh, I'm here to do real work, as if mine wasn't.

If anything, I am certainly tortured, and aren't all the great artists tortured?

Anyhoo. As a writer friend said to me, if you are going to write, it is going to hurt. And hurt it does. It sucks sometimes. I am really, really, really afraid of it. I'm going to make mistakes. I'm not going to do it perfectly. And I am going to do it anyway.

I am going to do it with as much joy and love for myself and the world as I can muster.

So there.