What am I doing?
A sixth novel when I haven't revised any of the others besides the occasional prod.
Don't I have a half dozen papers to write?
A dozen or so books to read already?
What is it that drags me back every November for this event?
What makes me act as ridiculous with novel writing as I do by being a Christian?
There is some bizarre mixture of faith involved with religion and art.
too busy and tired to really dig deep but really, the hope burning and
bursting to be released from my heart is a nice counter to the darkness
that seems to always prevail and win in this world.
I have multiple people remind me every year that I need a sanity.
How could writing a fifty thousand word first draft help?
If you haven't done it, if you've never made a piece of art...then I'm not sure you can ever understand.
Faith, Philosophy and Love are this bizarre mixture inside of me I
cannot and refuse to seperate or try to dissect with science.
Yeah something about chemicals, reactions and hormones but every writer is seeking Truth.
It may just be what the character will do next.
Trying to meet a word quote.
Making something to entertain others.
maybe like me trying to find some sort of self and existentialist
affirmation in creating something that is outside of me, that the
insanity of my faith/art are valid.
We all have stories.
But there is so much fear.
This quote rings with me:
is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep
you cramped and insane your whole life, and it is the main obstacle
between you and a shitty first draft. I think perfectionism is based on
the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each
stepping-stone just right, you won't have to die. The truth is that you
will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren't even looking at
their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot
more fun while they're doing it.”
― Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life"
Some people write for others.
Some write for themselves.
But those who write must write.
It doesn't have to make sense to you.
Mostly it doesn't make sense to me.
And sometimes God sends a small mist of grace that helps things make more sense.
Here is to insanity.
Here is to writing.
And here is to ripping off the masks we hide behind and start trying to embrace our art, ourselves and all that we hold dear.