Friends, fellow writers...I am going a bit through a bell jar/bat shit stage (these are not synonymous terms, I'm just somewhere on this continuum) after looking long and hard at my rewrite of Part Two of Heroines and realizing I'm still not getting it, the syntax, the flow, it's too constipated still, not right. At the end of Heroines I extort young girls when writing to tell themselves they are fucking geniuses...I wish I could do that to myself now. But I can't somehow.
Recently because I was so blocked from the last rewrite of Part Two, I went to a therapist I found online, whose practice was called something like "Towards a Healthy Mind." I need that, I thought. Despite the cheesiness I went. She didn't understand why someone would be afraid to write. The fear of failure. So what if you fail she said? What are you so afraid of she said? She was a bit disgusted with me. This was way too easy for her. The thing is, some things are easy for some people and not for others. I think that is what distinguishes me sometimes from others - I suffer, I am strained, I am stopped, at events or casualties that others can shrug off. I have never been able to shrug anything off.
And yet sometimes I burn, an excitement, that I could write this well. If I had the confidence. If I had the audacity, the certainty. The flow. FLOW-bert. Jack Kerouac and his benzos. Sometimes I think that is the only thing that divides me from being successful. Sometimes I write instead with one eye open, scared out of my mind. Or I ostrich madly, procrastinating.
Why is writing sometimes so painful? And impossible?