Agonies of a Young Author

Tonight is the Valentine's Day Eve. When everyone is excited, breathless with anticipation for tomorrow's surprises, full of the dread of the anxieties of romance- will he bring me roses? will she say yes? and other romantic ideals. My romantic ideal includes the idea that I can keep on schedule, writing consistantly in a blur of responsibility. But since Michael Wartan is not showing up at my door tomorrow night at 7 sharp, I suppose there is no reason to bereate myself for breaking my New Year's resolutions on the first day either. I can wallow in sadness guiltlessly, crying over sad movies alone and unpublished.....

Or not. I can get off my butt, get on the computor and return to the basics. The LBD (little black dress for the non-Vogue redears), the ruby red Chanel lipstick, and the blog.

Even though I have not been writing the blog, that doesn't mean that I haven't been pursuing the writing life. I've been thinking - a lot- about the way in which I've been approaching writing. I've tried for so long to be very responsible, very mature in my approach, the definition of a professional. I've realized that I'm overcompensating. I've been too conscious of my age and my empty portfolio, and thus have imbued my writing time with a SERIOUS GOAL, and a CLEAR PURPOSE and a DRIVEN MANNER. But I forgot something crucial to the whole business, and it affects the rest of my writing in the most significant way.

I forgot FUN.

The reason that I started writing was that I enjoyed writing. I loved it. I had FUN writing, in coming up with extravegent plots, with wild twists and turns, in memorable characters. Then I got SERIOUS, and thought more about REALISM and MARKETABILITY and DURABILITY. And I lost the part about having FUN. I didn't have fun anymore. I dind't like to write anymore, because I was too hung up on myself. Picking up the pen was more of a hassle that surpressing the creative desire in me, and too too easily, the Muse was locked away. Then she came less and less, until the time when I open up the closet door, and find that she escaped out the window when I wasn't paying attention. Then I have to put up flyers, and call around the neighborhood, and go to a lot trouble to find what was mine in the first place, and that I didn't appreciate enough to take care of. So now I've learned my lesson. I'm done with locking the Muse in the closet when she's inconvient. I'm done with leaving her alone when the neighbors SELF-DOUBT and PRETENTION show up. I'm taking my Muse out for a little girlfriend time, me and her, on a roadtrip to POSSIBLE. We're starting with coffee tomorrow.