I am not a writer.

A little more sloughing off is in order.  I need to say, out loud, (and to someone other than the invisible Viggo Mortensen in my kitchen because I think he's getting sick of hearing it) that I am not a writer.

I've never questioned this before.  Writing is something I have always done and something people have always told me I could do.  I have even been paid to do it.  But I know in my bones that I will never be the kind of writer I want to be.

Though I understand what Erica is talking about in this post--that we may never feel as capable as who we are comparing ourselves to, and that that shouldn't stop us because we have our own thing to offer--for me I think this is a matter of admitting that I don't want to work at it that much.  Writing as my focus--and to some extent, my identity--is feeling forced and icky.  Because something else is trying to take its place, and I want to make room for that to happen. 

I am not a writer.

There was a time when writing thrilled me, filled me with enthusiasm.  In my early 20's, I spent loads of time writing bad fiction and I loved it in the same way that I once loved quilting.  And then I got a "professional" job like I was "supposed" to and the 12-year Block drained all the life out of me.  Neither reading or writing fiction interests me anymore, but I love me some nonfiction, especially personal essays and the New Yorker and Eat, Pray, Love (who didn't?)

So that's what I've tried to write.  But it just sounds whiny to me.  Whiny and pretentious and empty.  Like my first post, when I was trying to find my blog voice not so very long ago.  That is me trying to sound like I could write for The Sun, and I hate it.  Many a time I have tried to write an essay, and it has never, ever fit.  My fiction attempts didn't really fit either, but I was having fun with it, so I didn't care.

I have bought TONS of how-to-write and working-through-the-fear books because, again, I was confusing fear with resistance, and didn't realize that me having a block meant something other than "I am a worthless puddle of spineless goo, and if I could just get rid of this stupid Block I could be a fantabulous writer!  Cursed Block!  Why, oh why, do you torture me so?"

But I kept slogging because all those books describe the artistic process as sheer hell and torture.  So I figured I was on the right track.  But now I'm beginning to really get to know myself.  Now I'm realizing that it was sheer hell and torture because I was trying to force a process that was not right for me. 

But the blog?  This I am enjoying immensely now that I have let go of trying to sound like anyone else but me.  So maybe I've found my voice here.  Informal and personal, like I'm writing a letter to a friend, which I sorta kinda am.

Prior to this week, I might have felt that this declaration was a cop-out.  But now there is no emotion attached.  It is merely a statement of fact, and a good-bye.  This is me, letting go of an evil Should.

Because clearly I am technically still writing.  I am just letting go of perfectionism, of how I think I should be writing, and allowing myself to find pleasure in it again. 

Comments

[V]

I sometimes think the word 'should' would be wonderful if we could ban it from our vocabulary! Keep 'blogging', it's a whole different world. Enjoy.

[Stacia]

I know!  Should is a very insidious word.  Thanks for the encouragement!

[elizabethm]

Thank you for the comment on mine and for this very interesting post. I have never thought of myself as a writer and am finding it fascinating that the process of blogging is making me feel more like one. I suspect blogging is quite freeing, in whatever direction it takes you!

[Vextasy]

If "letting go of perfectionism" is what
you are doing then keep doing it because
(as a reader) your writing is a pleasure
to read.

You seem to be able to capture thoughts and emotions that are hard to express in words
and many of which I recognise in your writing.

It is comforting to know that there are
others who have similar analytic thoughts but
rare to find them expressed so clearly.

So keep letting go.

[Stacia]

Wow! Thanks so much! It's always nice to know that people are reading and getting something out of what I have to say.

Rereading this again now, I think it really was mostly a purging of perfectionism and shoulds, two things that I constantly wrestle with, and my struggle to find a voice that feels like mine.

Still working on it, but feedback like this helps me keep going, so really. Thank you.