Last night I said something I thought I'd never say. I was talking to an SJC employee who I hardly see anymore, so we were catching up on a few things. She asked the inevitable, "What are you going to do in three months?" and I found myself uttering the words that have been weighing on my mind lately:
"I don't want to be a writer anymore."
I get in slumps. I'm easily disappointed and take *everything* very personally... so feeling down for a few days isn't anything new to me. But for weeks now, I've been thinking that maybe writing isn't what I'm meant to do. Thinking something like that is one thing... actually speaking the words is quite another. I tried writing an article for work today... I had to quit because nothing was coming out... it was like I've never taken a writing class or haven't learned anything from having this internship for three years. It almost seems like now that I've actually spoken the words aloud to another individual, it's somehow more real than it was when it was still just a thought in my head.
I don't actually know if it's true... looking back at some of the things I've written, it's hard to imagine where I would go if I didn't have the comfort of pen and paper to run to. I don't know what else I'd do... in three months, I'm going to have a creative-writing degree... I refuse to work at the hospital for any longer (I'm done after Spring Break)... maybe I can convince SJC to hire me to be the editor of the newspaper forever. Although, after today's issue and the two missing headlines... that's probably out of the question, too.
Yuck. I just feel gross, you know? I feel disgusted with myself. For years I've been convinced that I am a writer-- I've been doing writer-ly things and living a writer-ly life. It's so weird to feel the loss of something that has been constant for so long-- so many things in my life have been changing lately... it's always been a comfort to know that at least that one thing would stay the same, would remain steadfast in a world that was becoming slippery.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
"No one can find your life for you. You must find it yourself."
tags:
school days,
the write stuff
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2 comments:
I go through the same thing sometimes; in fact, I recently decided that I don't want to earn the MFA I've been talking about since I started DePaul. I don't think I will ever be The Writer I dreamed of being when I was a little kid - you know, spending three hours at the computer before my breakfast, peddling manuscripts on publishers, actually reading the issues of Poets and Writers I've received in the last year. That makes me sad, but just because I'm not The Writer doesn't mean I still can't be A Writer. If that makes any sense.
Maybe you just need to step away from it for a bit to look at it all from a different perspective. I, on the other hand, must live my life with an unfulfillable dream. I carry on day to day knowing that even if I finally make the move to Wyoming, I can never really become a dinosaur rancher.
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