The face I’ve been making for a week.
So I am a writer in distress.
Don’t worry finances or sort of okay and it’s mostly emotional.
I wound myself up so hard I gave myself the anxiety shits for days last week.
I am deep in rewrites for SCLAB and a noir story I was commissioned for.
I hate most words that I produce.
My current level of both metaphysical and physical agita is pretty huge.
So here I am about to make a list of my personal grievances, or I”m going to vomit feelings in list for to make myself feel better because I have fucking work to do. Please I’m actually okay. This is just how I process so I can work.
- My writing is trash panda level.
- Patreon continues to work my nerves.
- I am finding it difficult to settle down and write things that are not trash.
- Pretty sure everyone hates me.
- Kind of hate myself.
- Not enough hours that are not dayjob hours for me to write what I wanna write.
Let me stop with that last thing.
I am hugely ambitious. Having a computer at home again, hasn’t totally helped me fight the urge to write myself into the ground.
Here’s what happens.
Shannon the Fancy Pants Writer Man has goals. Said Fancy Pants Writer, Writes like the proverbial Mother Fucker, comes up with more things to write, is not able to keep up with self imposed production schedule, Fancy Pants Writer Man gets VERY FUCKING ANGRY AT FANCY PANTS WRITER MAN SHANNON who then gets the anxiety shits, feels terribly depressed and like the fakingest ass faker ever.
Add in that I am ass deep in SCLAB rewrites and I’m tussling with that hard. I have such high expectations for what I believe I can do with the material to make it Bigger, Better and More Fucking Awesome…I wind up really hating what I’ve done.
This is an area where I have always had a problem.
I have always put this huge amount of pressure on myself because I always believe I can do better. I am supposed to be able to write like a mother fucker and have it not be 105% garbage.
However, what I lack is the ability to cut myself slack on a regular basis.
Even as a wee baby I had this problem. I expect a lot out of myself in terms of what I believe I am capable of and I’m not always great about letting myself suck a little bit, or think I suck without turning punitive with myself.
This is a part of my writing process that I thought I had a firmer grasp on and as it turns out I don’t.
I’m in a place where I’m deeply frustrated with my inability to do for myself what I’m really good at doing for other people.
When it comes to other folks writing, I am encouraging, nurturing, cheerleading, supportive type. I might do this for other folks for monies someday, but for the few people I do it for, they always say it is the business.
When it comes to myself, my attitude is fuck you, fuck what you have to say, fuck that trash you’re trying to get someone to give you money for you fake mother fucker.
Y’all see where the problem is.
This is something I work on constantly. I cannot do the shit I want to do when I’m being an abusive asshole to myself about EVERYTHING under the sun.
Now, in all actuality some really amazing things are coming. I have my very first essay on my genders coming out with folks I love. I have new fiction coming out after the first of the year.
AND THIS IS FUCKING MAJOR.
Milcah and I are guest editing the CNF portion of The Citron Review’s first Queer Issue.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
I am so excited and honored to be doing it and…lemme keep it 100% right now I’m fucking terrified. I’ve never done anything like this and..yeah.
So please bear with me in the coming weeks.
I’m trying really hard not to come all the way the fuck undone and not be such a dick to myself.
What I need is to figure out HOW to do ALL of the shit I want to do without giving myself the anxiety shits.
That’s it for now.