A writer is somebody for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.
So, I haven't forgotten about the book, you know, that thing I keep talking about writing. It takes up a fair bit of my conscious meanderings. It is also producing an inordinate amount of gastric acid in my stomach these days, as I attempt to figure out how to birth the damn thing. I stumbled across this site recently and have sent the woman an email asking about fees, process, etc. I just realize how completely in over my head I am, how completely overwhelmed and inept I feel. I know if this thing is gonna be born, I'm going to need some help. We'll see where this leads.
Ever since I decided to call myself a writer, the writing has come slower and with much more agony. In a state of complete block and frustration today around not feeling able to write, I decided to get out my art supplies and paint. I don't consider myself a painter and so I can paint quite easily. I can churn out all kinds of stuff, some of it might even be considered good, but that doesn't matter to me. I'm not a painter.
Ahh...but the writing. Yes, the writing. The writing confounds me. I am a writer. So why can't I write goddammit? Once I put a label on who I'm supposed to be, my body seems to do a little shut-down. Who am I to think I'm a writer? Who am I to think I'm anything in particular at all? And what is this writer beast anyway? What does it mean to be a writer? I write. But so do most people on the planet. I hate these labels. I hate these boxes. I'm not a writer. I'm just a girl who occasionally puts her pen on the page and stuff comes out.
So I painted, and apparently, as you can see from today's entries, giving myself permission to not write has allowed me to write. It's bizarre the little dances we do with the mind, how we can shift its focus and voila, the longed for thing arises out of the ether. No wonder so many artists smoke, drink and are notably a bit disturbed. The creative process is a complete pain in the ass.