Most “artistic types” seem to have thin skins. A lot seem to be their own worst critics. That’s bad. It’s corrosive. It eats away at the will to work your creative muscles, or to do anything with the end results. But it’s all internal. It’s something you deal with – or don’t – on your own. Outside factors can influence it, of course, but in the end it’s you versus your own ego or lack thereof.
Of course, then those outside influences get involved. The peoples belonging to the “oh, how cute, you write” tribe. The family members who, no matter how many times they have been reminded that you not only write, you have published multiple books, some of which have actually sold, will react with surprise when it comes up, claim they need to check it out, then promptly forget until the next time the conversation occurs. The individuals who will explain to you, at length, how your “little hobby” isn’t as impressive as repeatedly birthing children you can’t afford, being approved for another extension of unemployment, or finding a good weed hookup. Those folks are such fun, aren’t they?
They’re not the worst of the bunch, though. The worst are those who, for assorted reasons, have some level of control over your time, finances or activities and abuse that. “We’re doing this today,” they say. “But I had x scheduled, two weeks ago, and…” “That’s not important. It’s just your little writing thing, anyway.”
Endless variants of that. It’s enough to drive a person to murder. Or when you need assistance for certain aspects of a project, you procure promises of time or support, and when it comes time to deliver, these folks often act as though it was never discussed, or just blow it off. “It’s just for one of those things you’real working on, isn’t it? No big deal.”
And God help you if it’s upsetting to you, or disrupts your mood or efficiency at doing all the things they expect of you in a given day. Then you can have the triple whammy of not getting your project done, the self-abuse for failing in that project, and being reminded that you can’t or won’t perform your non-creative duties up to snuff either, all at once.
But in the end is the question at the top. Why do I care? Why do I believe anyone when they pretend to show interest or say they’real going to help with something, or allow me to schedule time to do something, when it’s been proven time and time again that it’s not going to work out that way?
I think I need about $400k, a remote Transylvanian village that has Wi-Fi, a pack of trained wolves and zero human interaction. Then maybe I could actually get something done.
Just venting. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming. Ex Inferis #1 will hopefully be out sometime in November, with Insomniac Nightmares landing early next year. Beyond that, we’ll see. There’s a large part of me that’s about ready to just toss all of this aside and say “screw it, it’s not worth the hassle or feeling like this anymore.”