Creative is harmless and exhausting and, occasionally, fun, but it’s not insane. Harmless is good, I like harmless, fun is awesome, but the exhausting part is a drawback. Who actually looks forward to pounding away on ideas? I don’t. I love ideas, they’re exciting, but I dread the tweaking and revising and polishing and rewriting. I put it off until I’m desperate to post something new, then I’ll trot out a concept that’s grown stale after sitting unattended for so long. And it never turns out as good as I expected it to be. It’s very discouraging, although I should have learned to lower my expectations by now. I haven’t. My hopes continue to soar and their fall still hurts.
For me, writing is a tough slog, a long, frantic attempt to revive cold, lifeless thoughts. I think of it as idea CPR.
I’m successful only about 15% of the time (good thing I’m not an EMT, eh?). The other 85% I sulk and sigh and call myself names. Idiot, mostly, but I’m pretty prolific with the insults. Half-assed is a favorite, there’s also half-wit, dimwit, boob, moron, lamebrain, birdbrain, dope, hack, airhead, shithead, knothead, bozo, numbskull, loser, dweeb, well, you get the point. Creativity is hard, thankless freaking work.
What kind of person spends years working on something no one will ever see. I do. You do. Bunches of us can’t stop ourselves from putting thoughts into words — words that attempt to describe the craziness of life in a relatable, illuminating way. Of course, I happily settle for entertaining nonsense every chance I get; illuminating is way too ambitious. You’d need applied intelligence and logic to pull that off.
Even so, writing is what we do and who we are. But, I swear to God, some days I’d rather be a pirate.
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