Please, I beg you, don't do it. Don't stop, just keep going, no matter how much you think you hate it or how much you want to burn every piece of paper near you, don't. Even if you know that this time you are really giving it up and taking up taxidermy, don't. Honey, it ain't worth it.
Don't stop writing.
You will have such a difficult time getting back into your own head, let alone befriend any new character, because they will smell your betrayal and turn their backs. In unison. By full moon light.
And not writing will haunt you. You will get mail for writing magazine subscriptions. You will read your fate on license plates and try to hate a brilliantly written book, and any book you read after you give up writing will be brilliantly written.
Then you will try to write and you won't be able to and you will use that to affirm the reason why you gave it up in the first place...but you will then turn on yourself, unkindly I may add, and pick up your pen and the first thing on the page will be a doodle. A nice, petite doodle that will turn into a big, sloppy doodle, because why the hell is this doodle looking better than your last paragraph? And you will hate the doodle and scribble it out a little too hard and slice the paper in the process and rip it up and burn it and toss the pen in just to be safe, and pull out a few hairs and wonder if this is how a breakdown happens, and then guilt will set in. You will run to the scraps and ever so carefully lay them out and tape them together as if a metaphor for reigning in your own mind. You will grab the pen and pray that it works and when it does, but a little leakily, it won't matter, because now you know what you have to do.
So please, I beg you, save yourself. Don't stop. Just keep writing. And comb out your hair.
Don't stop writing.
You will have such a difficult time getting back into your own head, let alone befriend any new character, because they will smell your betrayal and turn their backs. In unison. By full moon light.
And not writing will haunt you. You will get mail for writing magazine subscriptions. You will read your fate on license plates and try to hate a brilliantly written book, and any book you read after you give up writing will be brilliantly written.
Then you will try to write and you won't be able to and you will use that to affirm the reason why you gave it up in the first place...but you will then turn on yourself, unkindly I may add, and pick up your pen and the first thing on the page will be a doodle. A nice, petite doodle that will turn into a big, sloppy doodle, because why the hell is this doodle looking better than your last paragraph? And you will hate the doodle and scribble it out a little too hard and slice the paper in the process and rip it up and burn it and toss the pen in just to be safe, and pull out a few hairs and wonder if this is how a breakdown happens, and then guilt will set in. You will run to the scraps and ever so carefully lay them out and tape them together as if a metaphor for reigning in your own mind. You will grab the pen and pray that it works and when it does, but a little leakily, it won't matter, because now you know what you have to do.
So please, I beg you, save yourself. Don't stop. Just keep writing. And comb out your hair.
4 comments:
Great post and great advice. I think every writer reaches this point, where things aren't going our way and we want to give up and it comes back to haunt us. I know I still regret giving up writing a few years ago.
Thank you Murees! Have you come back to writing? It isn't an easy thing to give up or keep, is it?
I LOVE this! You've hit the nail on the head. And you spell it out in such a frantic wave of reality - really beautifully done! And inspiring, to say the least!
Alanna, thank you!
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