I fight with an overactive mind and I work at a job where it’s a lot of brain work. When I get home I don’t want to do things that require a lot of hard thinking. Writing requires hard thinking especially the way I go about writing–going at it hard for a few months and then just letting everything else in life get in my way until the urge presents itself again a year later.
I just realized it today, looking at the dates of my short stories I’ve written over the years. Craziness. Bursts of writing and then long periods of nothing. I think a lot of it also has to do with the fight against Mr. Doubt. He’s the sumbitch that waits until I’m about 30 days or so into loving the process of writing and then starts whispering in my ear.
“Dude…what are you doing?…..Why are you wasting time?……This shit is hard work and then 2 things are inevitable: 1) Nobody’s going to really like it and 2) You’ll have wasted AAAALLL this time that you’ll never get back. …..Really bro? The odds of you being a success are worse than you winning the lottery 3 weeks in a row.
“Look at that gaming system there. You hear that?…….That’s Grand Theft Auto 5 calling your name. That’s something you’re good at. And you can make money playing. I mean it’s game money that you get from being a criminal and going on missions but look at the apartments and houses you own in that virtual world. Go have fun in your sports cars, your motorcycles, your airplanes. Go be a bad ass
“And that bad ass gaming computer you bought a few months ago…wow. You can flightsim the shit out of your spare time, man. Put on those headphones and hear those jet engines scream as you zoom down the runway and up into the sky, piercing clouds, climbing and climbing until the sky is black and you fall back to Earth. You’ll regain airspeed and expertly land that baby wherever you want. You’re an ACE!
“So why are you going to go back to writing? It’s not real fun. Why are you going to put your babies out there for people to pick apart? F*ck that, bro. You a glutton for punishment or what?
“Oh yeah. And don’t forget you have to work for a living. 10 hours a day to pay the bills. Stick to that. It’s not a bad life.”
“Mr. Doubt?” I said.
“Go f*ck yourself.”