Running Down a Dream

An ancient proverb tells us that patience is a virtue—and if this is true, then I am pretty darned virtuous.  My whole life is a waiting game, and I never advance any closer to an end goal.  And yes, I know that life is a destination, not a journey, but mine is neither.  I have increasingly realized over the past year that I have no concept of fun, or relaxation, or hobbies, and part of this is because I am just too poor for them.  Hobbies require some kind of income, unless you’re hiking (and even that requires the money to buy proper shoes).  I have also realized that if I ever find a real job, I won’t have time for fun.  I’ll be too busy working.  At this point, though, I don’t guess it matters.  I am single and hardly surrounded by a plethora of friends—nearly everyone I am close to lives miles and miles from here—but it would just be nice to make money.  It would also be nice to be married and have children before I grow old and die—but that requires money, too.  I guess writing is the cheapest hobby I could imagine, but the stress of my life has pushed me into a period of writer’s block.

 

Worry

A certain amount of worry in life is healthy.  It keeps you from making an endless series of stupid decisions.  However, I’ve always leaned way too far toward the neurotic side of worry, letting it consume me and even affect my mental state.  Currently I worry about my writing and if it will ever take me anywhere.  So far I am still waiting on reviews, if any, to come in.  Everyone with whom I’ve shared the book so far has enjoyed it.  Then again, I tend to worry about everything.  I worry when I can’t buy something I want.  I worry that my bills will never be paid.  I worry that I will never be financially stable.  I worry about too much rain or not enough.  I worry about commercials on television.  It’s a miracle I haven’t worried my hair prematurely grey (wait a minute…).  With all the said, I am still kind of on an emotional high after publishing my book.  The only thing that could make it more amazing would be to find it on a library shelf someday.

Currently listening to:  “Drinkin’ Me Lonely” by Chris Young

Editing

How much is it necessary to censor ourselves in everyday life? Clearly there are situations in which we need to maintain decorum and standards of niceness.  The weird thing about my writing is that, well, I never seem to find the need to do much editing.  Since so much of it just goes straight from mind to keyboard, I don't find as much need as I should to edit or reduce.  It's also hard to find constructive criticism, so even if someone told me to edit my work I would be hard pressed to follow through.  I'm sure all authors, and indeed any person who creates, struggles with this--letting your work go out into the world in order to be examined, disseminated, and scrutinized.  How will I feel, react, when I receive that inevitable bad review?  As long as it's not from someone I like, perhaps it will all be okay.


Currently listening to:  Forever Changed by Carrie Underwood