Into the void...

2004-12-16

9:04 a.m.

I recently made a life-changing decision.  I have decided to scrap the novel I’ve been working on for about three years now.  Somewhere in the process of revision, I decided that my writing of fiction has improved so much in the past two years that it no longer seems worth my time to take old, poorly written crap, and try to change it into something useful.  I lost interest, and you know what?

I feel great.

Seriously, I feel like a tremendous weight has been lifted.  I’m free again to write what I please with no regard to the novel that I felt should have been finished no matter the cost.  This, I believe, is progress.  To give you an idea of how much we’re talking about here, this decision of mine means that three hundred and fifty pages of fiction are being shoved aside, never to be looked at again.

God, it’s wonderful.

For some reason, I had thought that not finishing this particular novel would mean failure.  But I haven’t failed.  It definitely feels like a move in the right direction.  My fiction is developing a voice that is mine and mine alone.  When I go back and read some of the old stuff I’ve written, it’s like I’m reading someone else’s voice.  And it’s not a good one.  What the hell is the point of continuing to write something that I no longer feel for?  It has definitely proven true that once you no longer care about what you’re writing, the writing will turn out poorly.  The reader will be able to sense the lack of interest.  If I’m not interested, who else would be?

And so, it’s time to move on.

For once in my life, moving on seems like a good plan.  And not only that, but it seems like one I’m capable of doing.  This is really strange.  Usually, I attach myself to some horrible place and I stay there, unable to get my ass out of the rut.  This is different.  This is progress, freedom, movement, and relief.

There’s only one problem.

I’m finding myself in an interesting crossroads these days.  I’m literally on the precipice of adulthood, waiting to take that final plunge into the abyss.  I’ve attained a relatively high status career position, and it’s enough to keep me busy during every waking moment.  However, I’m also finishing up my Masters, realizing that my writing is becoming an increasingly important aspect of my life.  It’s honestly like two sides are trying to rip me apart.  Do I take the full-time job to its logical conclusion?  Do I work my ass off day after day after day only to wake up one day and realize that every dream I ever had has died and I’ve become my worst nightmare?  Or, do I find a way to get into a lesser job, one where I can focus more intently on my writing, where I can find the energy to spend effort writing down the meaning of the universe through Krista’s eyes?  It’s clear to me which is more important.

But how do I pay the bills?

Doing both is something I will only be able to manage temporarily.  This is not a permanent solution.  This is hell.  I’m working myself so hard that I barely have enough energy to fall into bed at night.  Last week, I was working eleven hour days, only to come home and stare at the computer screen, trying to focus enough to write something meaningful.  But I couldn’t do it.  When I’m that tired, there’s no way I can find the energy to be throught-provoking.  All I see is blankness, blackness, nothingness.  There’s nothing to write about, just the same ineffectual mind wandering sleepily through the mire.

I’m shooting myself in the foot.

So, let’s think about this rationally.  I have to keep the job in order to be able to afford the classes I need to get my degree in creative writing, which, because it’s a Masters degree, will mean better pay, higher lever jobs, better opportunities in the world where I work.  But the writing is what’s important to me.  I can’t take the classes if I don’t work.  I can’t afford to live and eat if I don’t work.  I would hate to rely on Rob for anything more than I already do.  Where is the line?  When do I stand up and say, wait a minute, this is my life, I’m going to do what I want to do with it?  When do I take the time to step aside and set up the pathway for the rest of my life?

This, of course, is all not to mention the fact that I do find it tremendously difficult to be in this job.  My mind doesn’t function as well as I would like it to.  I can’t remember things from one moment to the next, and I have to keep writing everything down in the hopes that I’ll one day be able to remember where I wrote it.  Then I forget it was ever written, come across it months later, wonder what the hell I was doing, and screw everything up again.

I’m having an awful time with my eyes lately, too.  My meds cause my eyes to go in and out of focus at odd intervals, so I can be sitting at a meeting, trying to keep focused on what’s happening, and my eyes will go so far out of focus that I can no longer see the people sitting next to me.  In fact, the world feels so removed it’s like I don’t even exist.  Then I wonder if I really am able to keep this job.  It’s almost like I’m holding up a façade that’s so heavy and artificial that I’m being crushed beneath the weight.

When does it end?

This is getting ridiculous.  I really don’t want to do this job that I appear to be rather good at.  I really would prefer to be out of this black hole.  Rob bought me a sixteen-hundred dollar computer for my birthday, and I haven’t had any time in the past month to figure out how to work my website through the new computer.  So, I’m wasting the money I spend on my web hosting service, while I figure out why the hell I don’t have an HTML editor and where I can get one cheap.

Not to mention that I haven’t been able to write in my journal for two months.

Christ.  There’s always too much to do.  I always feel like I’m waiting for that moment of peace that should come at the end of a major trial.

But it never comes.

<- previous | next ->