The Fear

So things…things have been rocky.  I’ve been obsessing over a book I am not writing.  I have gained about five pounds (all of it stress), and I have began to question what I am doing this all for.  It was at this super low and wallowy point that I remembered this pin that I stumbled across a few weeks ago.  Kakorrhaphiophobia.  What an incredibly clumsy word.  Still, it struck me as something I needed to hold onto.  Something I recognized.

Kakorrhaphiophobia.

It is most certainly something I am afflicted with.  I am right now fearing the failure of all kinds of things: not getting into PA school, not orchestrating the holidays correctly and getting all my family in one place, not losing the five pounds that all this fear has placed on me.  You’d think reaching this goal of 50,000 words in 30 days would be the one thing I could grab tightly and make sure I didn’t fail at.  Now at 13 days in and minimal progress…I fear this too.  I am the person who never finishes a plate of anything, but finished an entire plate of chicken and waffles because her husband told her that she wouldn’t.  I am competitive, and am usually not fun to play games with.  I don’t like to lose.  I rarely do.

So this is killing me.

I told myself today that I didn’t have time to mess with this ridiculous dance of will I win NaNoWriMo, or won’t I.  I went to the library, and decided that if I didn’t finish 5,000 words before walking out of there…I was going to stop wasting everybody’s time.  I finished, but barely.  All of my words seems forced and flimsy, and I’m not sure if I wanted my characters to evolve and grow into what some of them turned into.  Some writers would just shrug and say “that’s where the character is leading me! I’m just going to follow along!”  I am not this writer.  I want to be this writer, and just throw my index cards into the air and say Bollocks it all!!  Instead, I am trying to force these fully developed people into holes they don’t belong in.  I am a micro-manager.  A bully.  There is only one solution it seems…I am just going to have to get completely hammered until I finish this book.  It seems that is the only way I am going to unclench enough to let Eloise make her bad mistakes.  The only way I can write a few thousand words without looking at them in derision, and deleting the whole lot a few minutes later.

So, cheers.

I apologize, I am not at my brightest tonight.  I mentioned a while ago that I was in a book club, and we decided our first book was going to be Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn.  We are scheduled to meet next week, and I decided it was time to stop being lazy and read the book.  I came home from the library feeling a little bleak, sat down and read it, and now I’m my own thundercloud.  The people in the book were just all kinds of twisted, and this is why I usually avoid books like this.  The reason I still refuse to read The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo.  Darkness in books sticks to me.  I absorb it, and it takes days to shake.  I first realized this in middle school, when I picked up Madame Bovary at the library.  I borrowed it on a whim, and realized soon after that reading it just made me feel nauseous.  I hated Emma.  I hated her selfishness, and her ridiculousness.  I hated what her life and death did to her husband.  I hated that he spent all that time grieving a person that never existed.  It made me sick, and I still finished it, because I couldn’t not finish it.  It made me more cautious about what I read in the future.

There is this Walt Whitman quote that I love: Do I contradict myself?  Then very well, I contradict myself.  I am large.  I contain multitudes.  I have always found this to be one of the truest things I have ever read.  I do contain multitudes.  Fragments of different books, different roles from my years in theater.  I find it comfortable to slip into somebody else’s skin and live there for a while.  This is why books are so powerful to me, why I can embody parts of them..both dark and light.  This is why I thought I could be a good writer.

Why I hope I can still be a good writer.

Why I am going to keep going.

Kakorrhaphiophobia.

xx S

One thought on “The Fear

  1. Most likely cold comfort, but you are not alone. Self-imposed deadlines (like NaNo) stir the rebel in me. It’s like my internal mother sets it up and my internal teenager rips it to shreds.Worst of all, I start blaming (and resenting) my characters (why are they making me do this?). I do better (write more of the good stuff) when I forget those hoops and go for a walk in the woods, listen to music, make a pot of soup, and give myself a break. When I do, I fall in love with my book again and regain trust in myself. (But I have to re-learn that over and over again. . . )

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