“And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self doubt”- Sylvia Plath
The New Year is off to a slow, depressing start for yours truly. My old friend, Self Doubt, has returned to piss all over my manuscript that will determine whether or not I am accepted to the Masters’ programme in Creative Writing.
Do you know what it’s like to be your own worst enemy? How about getting up every day, with the intention of writing a page, only to have your creativity flounder? What about feeling as though every word, sentence and paragraph you write is
pointless shitty? Or that
the dream of being a writer that has captivated you for the better part of two
years was a passing fancy? Garvin, the Writer? Ha!
I wish I could pinpoint the exact moment that this debilitating disease crept into my life. I have a great support system. I've won prizes. I've been chosen to travel to Colombia, twice. I was the Head Boy in Sixth Form for crying out loud! All these moments and more have proven that I’m more than capable of doing anything. So, I have every reason to be confident in, not only myself, but my abilities. Except, I’m not!
Maybe, it happened during the “bullying phase”, when I was made to feel that I wasn't good enough as a boy? No, that can’t be it! I could just be afraid of opening myself up and exposing my creativity to constructive criticism. I’m very sensitive, and often misinterpret constructive criticism for malice. Plus, I've read that the path to being a writer is not an easy one. I must be mentally sabotaging myself in the hopes of avoiding the incoming bumps in the road. That makes sense, right?
How do I get over this? I have tried everything. I've re-read my past blog posts, only to find faults. I've gone over all the compliments I've gotten about my writing, but if I don’t believe in myself, what use are they? I've forced myself to write, but end up being even more frustrated than before. Sigh! What’s the point? I can’t just sit around, wallowing in self pity, watching old episodes of “Wilfred” as the deadline draws closer. I would hate to be rushing at the last minute in a daring “Make It Work” moment. I should just throw in the towel from the get-go, and apply for a “safe” Masters in Cultural Studies.
Maybe, all hope isn't lost; I did just write a blog post. Then again, I might read this tomorrow, and think it’s a load of shit...
Until the next one!