Does anyone else remember a dark gym in junior high school, festooned with balloons and crepe paper but still redolent of dirty socks, where, glued to a wall you panicked each time a boy walked your way? Where even catching the eye of a cute-guy-walking sent your heart into A-fib?
(Insert ‘girl’ for ‘guy’ dear male readers.)
Do any of you remember listening to The Beach Boys, or The McCoy’s or The Temptations and moving your body subtly to the rhythm because you wanted to show that you knew how to dance? Or, how about watching your friends slow dance to The Bee Gees or the Righteous Brothers (who had lost that loving feeling) and aching for someone to hold you like that?
Do you remember when they turned the lights back on and announced the “last dance” and you felt tears well up, so turned and left because there was no other chance to be chosen and you might as well go call your dad for a ride home before anyone could see your sad little face?
Well, I do. I remember junior high and high school the same way. No need to go into the reasons no one wanted to dance with me (well, there was my six foot height) because, no matter the cause, rejection was the feeling. And being on the unnamed dating site has brought all those little sorrows back.
It seemed as if no one, besides two hackers and a man of an “alternative lifestyle” wanted to choose me. I know we modern ladies are supposed to ask them to dance now, but I just can’t because it is even worse, while you are standing and not getting asked to dance, if you ask someone and they say ‘no.’
So I have been asked to dance, electronically of course, and I will do my best not to make a fool of myself or dance too wildly or smile too much because this is just the first hurdle. I have always let myself be chosen and that very act validated, to me, that the chooser was the “right” one because he had the good sense to want me, but not anymore. The choosing is only a “hello” and I have no compunction about saying, “goodbye” anymore.
Life teaches you these things.
But I am still dancing quietly to myself just in case.
Stay tuned.
I’ve sat here in a funk for days wondering what the hell I could have possibly been thinking when I decided to “become a writer.”
Good grief!
I am not without talent and, having set my mind to something, will doggedly march along like I know what I am doing. I am also one who starts to “become” something then, as the becoming gets more difficult, will set aside the new vocation so slowly and discreetly that no one even notices, least of all me.
This is what I have been struggling with for the last month: the thought of working on things that need editing seems too much like setting an alarm clock and running off to punch-in at some factory. Whereas, creating a brand new masterpiece comes as easy as opening up my mind. The need to constantly be producing something, anything, outweighs the need to polish and straighten and insert and delete or finish something I have already started.
What is wrong with this picture? Do I have a failure to follow through because of laziness or lack of confidence? Do I have a self-hating death wish to fail at everything that could mean personal satisfaction and pride? I honestly don’t know.
I am extremely competitive but give up if I think I am not going to win the prize. Sometimes I think that if I can’t be the best I refuse to be anything at all. Is that self-serving or what?
Is there such a thing as creative laziness?
I am a hard worker, never shirk my responsibilities, and am personally and morally upright and resourceful in every other aspect of my life. But when it comes to doing something for myself without a deadline or reward I lose interest and watch another dream float merrily away.
But what exactly is the dream? I fear it has much to do with others justifying and complimenting my efforts. It supposes that what I have to say, and how, might strike a resplendent chord that echoes through the ages and guarantees that my name and life will not be forgotten.
I want to accomplish this without re-writing, critiques, or basically any boring hard work on my part that does not include the majestic birth of a new tome.
Good grief! I am a whining, lazy fiddling grasshopper, not an artist suffering from writer’s block!
Good thing I am doing The Artist’s Way. Thank you G.
Some awesome writer-ly sites:
http://juliacameronlive.com/the-artists-way/
http://acfuller.com
http://www.authormagazine.org