“I was supposed to do great things
I know the road was long
But I wasn’t raised to shoot for fame
I had the safety on
I cut my ties, I sold my rings
I wanted none of this
If you start from scratch you have to sing
Just for the fun of it…”
-Cold War Kids, Miracle Mile
I’m a failed artist. I created an animated short film no one watched. I’m a failed writer. I wrote a book but no one read it. And I’m a failed person. I tried to give myself to others but I have no friends.
So what’s left for me?
It’s weird because now that I’ve written my book, I’m almost entirely over writing. While I had another book in mind, I’m likely never going to write it. I could write it for myself. But I would also want it to be professionally edited. And I can’t afford that. I couldn’t even afford to have my first book edited but I thought I might make that money back in book sales. That didn’t happen. Not even close. I can’t take that financial risk again. And if I can’t make the next book the best it can be then what’s the point?
And when I think about it, there’s a piece of me that doesn’t even want to blog anymore. It’s partly because I’m burned out on writing and partly because no one seems that invested in my words. I had that same exhausted/defeated feeling when I finished my student film in college. After I exported that final animated file, I had no desire to do another one.
Now that the book is done, I feel a huge weight has been lifted from me. I wonder if that’s why I don’t feel the urge to write anymore. Maybe I had this need inside me to just finish this one project, to get this story out of me. And maybe all the other writing I did was a distraction. I was writing and it felt good but I wasn’t working toward that one true act that would bring me the most satisfaction. And now that I’ve finally accomplished it, there’s no need to continue with the distractions.
I think my body is just more aligned with nighttime.
I have so much trouble waking up in the morning. Knowing I have to get up and go to work doesn’t help but I still find it difficult to get going even on my days off. And it’s not for a lack of sleep. I get enough. But it just feels so good to be in bed.
I often hit the snooze button way too many times. One of the reasons why I do that is because I’m often dreaming when my alarm goes off and I hit the snooze because I want to finish the dream. But I usually nose dive into a different dream, which is then interrupted by the snooze, which I want to return to, which usually sends me spiraling into another situation. And the cycle continues.
I can’t think, can’t get creative during morning hours. It’s only when I’ve settled into the day can I settle in front of the computer and write. But that’s usually by 8:00 or 9:00pm. And that only allows me a few hours to get any work done.
I always tell myself I’m going to write as soon as I get home from work. And then I sit down in front of my computer and check Facebook, etc., eat dinner, then take a nap. I wake up and check all my social media again. Then I watch television and before I know it, it’s time for bed.
But when I know work isn’t looming on the horizon, I can sit down without worrying about going to bed early and I can pump out some decent material. If I could, I would write all night. That’s when all my gears are greased and ready for productivity. I could write until the morning meets my muse.
But the world isn’t made for night owls like myself. Sure, I could take a night shift position at some job but that also wouldn’t do me any good. I’d be able to sleep in late but those precious dark hours that could be spent writing would be spent working. I like my setup right now. My hours are decent enough to allow me enough time to get some quality writing done. I just don’t always take that opportunity and instead piddle away the time until right before bed. That’s usually when inspiration strikes. But it’s usually put out before I can produce anything good.
I wrote all the drafts for my book once the sun went down. I write most of my blog entries when the moon is out. I just feel I work better that way. When I can even force myself to work.
While I was writing my book, I still had ideas I wanted to express here but didn’t have the time so I wrote small blurbs and saved them as drafts. I’m now 25 drafts deep and I want to clean away this clutter. So the next several entries probably won’t be polished. As much as I would like to articulate my thoughts the way I used to, something has changed with either me or my writing or possibly both but I’ve got too much on my mind to focus on any one thing these days. So I’m going to start quickly rolling out these drafts just to get them off my mind. Rapid fire frustrations and quick vignettes of regret.
When I was a child, I came home from school and went straight to my room and did my homework. It just made sense to get it out of the way so I could watch Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers uninterrupted.
As I got older, the Internet took precedence over algebraic equations. There was just so many other interesting things to do and the fact that I hated math didn’t help my procrastination. When I was in a chat room or downloading music on Napster, I always told myself those word problems were waiting. It was like getting your teeth cleaned or taxes done, an activity you know is necessary but one you put off for as long as possible. It always stayed in the back of my mind and I always felt guilty for not getting it done right away but that didn’t stop me from waiting until the last minute.
When I graduated from college, I felt free from the burden of homework. I could get a job, put in my 8 hours and then go home and be lazy without the worry of another deadline weighing me down.
But that was before I decided to write a book.