I’m so very frustrated right now. Dedicated readers maybe be seeing this as a running theme here over the last few weeks and it’s only been getting worse. I’m frustrated withg my job and I’m frustrated with my writing and I think the two are related. I hate my job and wish I could give it up and write full time and I hate my writing because it’s not at a place yet where I can sell it and make any money, let alone enough to live on. So instead of taking the time to go slowly with my writing and let it develop at it’s own pace, I’m trying to force it and make something happen sooner than it’s ready. And in turn that’s making the writing even worse. It’s manifesting itself in anger and confusion about plots and characters and basically an identity crisis of who I am professionally at work and in my writing. I’m getting imapatient and feel like I
I don’t think it’s a coincidence that this is all happening as my 31st birthday approaches on September 16.
My personal life, on the other hand, is going amazing and that’s the area I always thought I’d have to sacrifice in order to reach my professional goals. But I have a great fiancee, a wonderful dog, and a wonderful life ahead of me. If I can just take a deep friggin breathe and let things happen in their own time.
Now, of course, all of this conflict and mental anguish, and such would make great material for the literary novel I’ve been feeling like I need to write lately. But, again, I’m over thinking it. I mean does the world really need another semi-autobiographical novel about another friggin writer with troubles. But even if I write it and its theraputic, can I really sell it? And if I sell it, nobody will buy it and my career will be over on the first book.
I think my brain needs a vacation and I need a break. But I don’t have the patience to take a break. Calgon, take me away…