4 April, 2008 | Leave a Comment
You know I quit my teaching job so I could write full-time. Well, I’m pleased to report that I am actually writing — and for hours each day. No one is more surprised at this turn of events than me. I worried that I would stare at the computer screen all day and have a complete breakdown (and admit it — you probably thought that would happen to me too). But no, so far I am kicking ass.
This writing full-time thingy is interesting. It certainly changes the writing process and my relationship to it. I am a very undisciplined writer and normally I would only write when I was “in the mood.” There are benefits to doing this — when you’re “in the mood” or “feeling inspired,” writing can be great fun, even exhilarating. Writing each day regardless of what mood you’re in is not great fun — it’s hard work. I spent most of yesterday working on two long paragraphs (about one page). It was a frustrating process and it gave me a headache and there were times when I thought I was going to die (perhaps by my own hand), but I kept working at it and by the end of the day I had something that’s pretty good. I used to feel that my best, most inspired work was the result of a visit by the muse, but now I think I can get the same results by just rolling up my sleeves and putting in the hours, even if it’s a painful process. This is a big realization for me. Now I understand why my supervisor suggested that writing full-time would boost my confidence. Perhaps as a full-time writer, I won’t be held hostage to the extreme ups and downs I experienced before. I’ll have more of a routine and this will be more like a job. I think the confidence will come from feeling that I have some control over this process.
What’s not going well right now is the reading. As I mentioned in a previous post, I am reading books by men right now. I should probably be more specific and say that I have been reading books by men that are quite brutal, either literally or in their representations of the world. You know, this is starting to get to me. Right now on my nightstand I have American Psycho and Invisible Man. I’m determined to get through these two very long books, but it’s a difficult process. These books are starting to screw with my head. The other day I was craving something beautiful, so I picked up Michael Cunningham’s The Hours and read a few chapters. Even though The Hours is filled with depression and suicide and all matter of unhappiness, Cunningham creates a world that I want to enter. It’s not a bleak world; there’s something rather inviting about it. It’s certainly not brutal. I am surprised at how the books I’ve been reading lately (Palahniuk, Houellebecq, Ellis, Ellison) have affected my state of mind — and not in a positive way.
Reading these books is an important experience for me, though sometimes unpleasant. It will help to clarify my thinking on male vs. female writing, on political writing, etc. I need to write about this in my critical essay, part of which is due at the end of the month. I’m sure I’ll have more to say about this soon. My thinking on it is still evolving too much to be very articulate at the moment.
Anglofille said @ 11:16 am | literary |
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That’s good news, Anglo ! Hard work, sure, but it worths (indeed, I think that a gallicism. I mean: Ca en vaut la peine.)
