Too often blog posts, facebook and twitter seem to be about projecting an idealised version of oneself. Happy, successful, inspired, creative. This very website began to document a process of my creativity but ended up as a simulacrum of a creative life. Quite simply I don’t know what to say anymore.
With one eye on the possible impression that a visiting agent may get should they wish to publish my novel this blog has become a sterile beast, like a hybrid flower with no sustenance for bees.
Perhaps it’s also my job – I’ve been working in marketing for years where one has to think about an ‘audience’, creating a message that will resonance to create a plan of communications. It’s all so worthy.
Well it’s stifling me; stopping me wanting to blog for fear of creating the wrong impression. I have of course full-blown imposter syndrome. I used to be convinced that I’d be found out at work – shown up to be the incapable one, the one they shouldn’t have employed
These days the imposter syndrome is fed by the process of being a writer. Every time I receive a rejection it becomes harder to continue. I wonder if I should give up this writing lark that causes so much pain and requires so much effort. Gardening holds none of these dilemmas.
Deep down I know that my self-worth should not be measured by publication. My writing self should be fed by love of the writing. But I don’t want my work just to sit in a draw or on my laptop any longer. Of course I could self-publish, but in my world I want the satisfaction of knowing someone else thinks it’s good enough to be traditionally published. Publication = validation.
These emotional wranglings ignore the root reason I write – because I must – because it’s all I know how to do – because when it flows there is nothing better, and I want to leave something of worth. Also I want to connect with others, as well as myself. But without an audience, what use is writing? Just some self-indulgent compulsion that isolates and takes time from my family. Not being brilliant, not doing it, editing and letting it lie fallow are all reasons for my current unhappiness.
As for blogging, without some emotional honesty, the blog is going to be a pale imitation of art.
This may be self-indulgence, but it feels like it’s important to set down a marker to of where I am in my writing life. I’m not giving up, the only way is to go deeper, and one way of that is to pick off the scab and give my writing dilemmas some air.