Apparently I’m still a writer.
I have a new thing at Xojane. More self care and stuff.
Lately I’ve had what you could call a mega crisis of faith in myself and stuff. I fell down the deepest of “every word I write sucks” holes and have had a bit of a hard time pulling out of it.
Not to say that I’m not writing because I am. In fact I’m working on some pretty exciting to me stuff and yet, I’m feeilng some type of way about showing people I don’t know my work.
I go through this every now and then. It’s a combo of losing faith in my own work and losing faith in everything else.
Not quite a deep depression but more of a let ALL my demons just start cage fighting in my brain and see what happens.
Interestingly, in the past when I’ve hit the I’m going to be the biggest asshole to myself/become a whirling panicky anxiety ball of fuck- I stopped writing entirely.
Granted most of what I’ve been writing is angry and dark as fuck but you know, gotta write through the shit.
I’m not dong nanowrimo for the first time in years. I was just not really moved to do it right now.
I’ve reached saturation with a few things.
I figured out that part of my issue with freelancing in a heavier way is that a lot of the places people suggest to me (and mind you I am thankful people care enough to want to help) I would have to navigate being the lone woman of color or the only Black woman talking about things that are not pop culture or generally light/funny and that shit is really fucking hard on me.
The fact is, emotionally I think I can handle it and then I just really can’t. It’s just too hard and frankly I’m not famous enough to be paid well for it.
So there’s that angst.
Not that I’m not writing those things, I am. I just don’t really know what to do with them that wouldn’t make me feel uh, icky.
Check that out, icky. I’m a mother fucking wordsmith.
So I’m working on shit.
Trying to not fall into a bigger asshole to myself pit.
Feeling semi successful.
With that in mind I’m singing this song all day every day.
Knuck if you Buck
John the Revelator
Throw in a little old school Sepultura and some Thelonious Monk and my brain is getting a little right.
Okay here is a taste of one of the non fiction pieces I’ve been working on about how people hate my face:
On occasion someone feels the need to speak up. I have endured lectures from people I don’t know about how unemployable, updateable and unfuckable I have been at any one time.
The man speaking to me was not someone I had ever seen before but he had some tips for me.
“Men don’t find metal in the faces of women attractive and your make up is a little heavy. You should let your natural beauty shine through.”
Yes, I have a good sized piece of steel right in the middle of my face in my big lower lip. Yes, I like to wear a lot of makeup. I am very full aware of these things, they are all things I have chosen on purpose.
So there’s that.
I’ve also discovered that I am still not great at doing fluffy non fiction. If I’m doing it apparently I’m just going to go for the jugular. Even if it is my own.
That’s all for right now. I’m very tired and I need to get ready to go home.