I don’t want to write today. Well, no, I do, but I’m avoiding it. It’s one of those “I don’t think I can do this” days. One of those days when I feel so insignificant and up against something so impossibly huge that I know I’m going to fail, no matter how hard I try. And the perfectionist in me says, “then ignore it and maybe it will go away because you can’t possibly work when you feel like this, you poor pathetic thing. Besides, your writing isn’t pretty enough anyway, but then, you knew that, didn’t you?”
My inner perfectionist is a snob.
Some days I want to set her on fire.
But today, I don’t think I can do that, let alone face the looming WIP waiting for me to finish it. Besides, who really cares if I finish this one or not? No one was going to read it anyway, right? With all the amazing books out there, what makes you think your words are worthy of the attention of a single reader? Your words aren’t even pretty!
This ambitious perfectionist inside is great at self-sabotage (and self-hatred at that). She’s not even useful like the head editor. Instead of providing a hint of constructive criticism, she gives only, “you’re not perfect, therefore you are not worthy, so just give up and be normal already.” She is the antithesis of creativity.
So usually, I sit around, feeling like crap, green slime-ing it up like Howl from Howl’s Moving Castle, and waste my entire day, or week, obsessing over how my life sucks because I can’t write a beautiful first draft or second draft and no one likes it. Never mind that next to no one has read it and all drafts have mucho suck-tastic parts.
In a lot of ways, part of me wants to let the green slime come. It’s easier. And it will pass…eventually. Of course, by the time it does, I may have abandoned my current project or made other poor life choices.
Or I could fight. I could fight even though I feel small and helpless and completely out of my depth. I can keep writing. I can keep creating. Maybe it will be uglier than green slime, but it will be mine.
I started writing this post with the want to give up, the the intention to let myself have a “green slime” day. But I don’t want that anymore. This, doing the hard but brave thing, is why I write.
So no green slime for me. No burning the perfectionist at the stake. Today is just another day of the good fight, another day I’m brave. It’s just another day I write.