Wednesday, 3 October 2012
The time I made a promise to myself
If you've only recently started reading my blog, the chances are that you think I am absolutely terrible at it. Okay, so you might like the content, and the writing style (at least I hope you do...), and you might think I'm astonishingly funny (am I pushing my luck yet...?), but in terms of regular posting, and internet presence, I have no doubt that you think I'm absolutely useless. And you're probably right. Blogging wise, I have been atrocious recently. Go ahead and draw upon me a hideous moustache and a monobrow, I deserve it.
If you've been a reader of my blog since the glory days of frazzling Fridays and that awful date, you will know that I haven't always been like this. Once upon a fine ol' time, a time long before the mood of recent months, the fundamental rule of my life was to live it, write about it, and pop the madness into a blog post where appropriate. It was tremendously fun, and despite the fact I had as little time to blog as I do now, I always made sure that I put the effort in, because it was something that I loved to do.
Recently, my relationship with this little corner of the Internet hasn't been quite so chummy. I have to be honest, blogging hasn't been making me as happy as it once used to, not because I've suddenly lost all passion for writing (I'm pretty certain that ink runs through my veins), but because for the first time in my life, ever, I have really found myself doubting whether or not I'm actually good at it, or good enough, to ever get to where I want to be. Since narrowly missing out on the most fantastic opportunity that has ever come my way, I've been struggling with a sudden, dire lack of self-belief towards the one thing that I have always felt I was born to do. Bloody norah, a couple of weeks ago I even contemplated giving it up; the blogging, the novel-writing, the endless hunting for new opportunities/ways to get my writing/creativity out there, all of it. Utter ridiculousness, I know.
The shock of feeling like this (I'm usually my own biggest fan when it comes to the world of pensive scrawling) has had me thinking that life would be so much easier if I didn't have such fierce dreams; if I could just wake up, and not want to change my own little part of the world through literature, or entertain and inspire people so much. But it turns out that there are a zillion things that I want to do, and so I have to make a conscious choice, and I will make it out loud, right here, in the blogosphere.
I either sit around, procrastinating, questioning why the devil this all means so much to me, assuming that it's only going to end in a broken heart and failed ambition, or I put my heart and soul into everything, shake off this temporary madness (aka the devil that is self-doubt), and I write, hard, beneath a cloud of standard Kathy B shaped optimism. If people want to read it, they'll read it. And if people don't want to read it, then at least my own mind is a little less chaotic.
I've decided that the latter is my only option. Ultimately, as half-crazy as it may drive me at times like this, when I'm being an utter donkey, nothing in this world fulfils me more than putting pen to paper. So that folks, is what I shall do. I will be working super hard to finish my novel, but I'm also going to stop abandoning this place. That's a promise.
Thank you for sticking with me, and for always believing in me. You will never know what that means to me, you fine human being, you.