But I’m really trying to get better, to do better work.
I am writing a lot, but I find myself at the point where I feel I could either keep going, or just give up, and I’m equally enthusiastic about each of those options. Will I ever get better? Or have I done the best I can do? Does anyone care if I ever do anything better? Will anyone even notice? Does it matter if no one notices, shouldn’t I just do it for me? Am I ignoring my ‘real life’ to do this “art” which barely qualifies as such? What do I want, anyway?
My head is a mess. My story-in-progress is even worse. In trying to “do better”, I fear I have lost my voice, lost the little spark of magic that made my quirky tales worth telling.
This quote by Ira Glass is reassuring, but all the inspirational memes in the world can’t make me a better writer, I’m afraid.
I will keep trying, for now. Because…what else can I do?
In unrelated news, my neighborhood will go batshit nuts today (for some reason the third is the party day here, and the fourth is quieter, more family picnics and such). Today it is most definitely ‘on like donkey kong‘. Massive (no joke like twenty feet high) bonfires on the beach, attended by crowds of beer-guzzling locals. Professional grade fireworks being set off in the middle of the street. Public drinking and subsequent public drunkenness. Roving gangs of young adult men out looking for mischief/fun.
You know, just… ‘merica.