I was very surprised to see the amount of response I got when I posted the latest of my literary ramblings on Sudden Denouement collective.
Yes, I am part of a collective now. I’m honestly not sure how this happened but it’s a huge deal for me to be recognized by other writers. I’m honored beyond words.
You can check out my post here: https://suddendenouement.com/2016/12/12/miscarriage/
And check out the other works as well. All the writers are insanely talented.
After everything this post brought me I feel like saying a few words about its origins.
I’m working on a novel. And it’s hard. Writing is not always a rose garden, as I’m sure you know. But this is beyond anything I ever experienced. It’s my journey. My odyssey. It’s beautiful, but damn if it doesn’t hurt like hell too!
My continuous self-doubt is slowing my progress. Some people find this weird. Yeah, I’ve gotten this far. Yeah, I work hard and yeah, I’m determined. And hell, the publisher bloody well called me, expressing his interest in what I’m writing.
So what’s the fucking problem?
(Sorry for the bad language.)
Well after all of this, I still don’t believe I’m good. Quite the opposite. I think I’m bloody worthless. I don’t believe in myself. I don’t believe in anything I accomplish. No matter how hard I work it’s never enough, I keep on judging myself because I could have done better. I’ve worked myself to the point of exhaustion, mentally and physically. I was on the breaking point.
That’s when I wrote Miscarriage.
Hastily, boldly, and pouring my anger and disappointment into each word. If you didn’t figure it out already, the poem is about my fear of failure. The deformed fetus represents trying to create something and realize you’ll never make it.
“Stay dead” is what a part of me wished right then. For the dream to stay dead and not come back to haunt me again. In that moment I wrote it I felt like the idea of writing my novel had forced itself into me, and wasn’t something I had decided for myself.
Maybe not even something I truly wanted.
Of course I realize it isn’t true. I do want it. And taking this journey was my conscious decision, no one else’s.
So what am I going to do now? Well, I’ll pick up my writing where I left off. Greet my anxiety and self-doubt as the old, well known friend it is and continue despite it. I’m not done here.