#rejectionquest

It takes a village to burn a witch, so it was said, in a song once.

But in the end of all things, when it comes to creation, the only thing that can stop you from doing the things that you wish to do is you.

I have been wicked nervous these last two weeks.

I found out that I might have a different shift at work, and that it would be essentially down to pulling lots and picking our shifts going down these lists based on out merit and tenure.

I was hoping to get a shift that would either keep with the same amount of time  after work, or even more time.

It turns out that I’m going to have an extra thirty minutes after work now. 

I hope this means that I’m going to be doing two more things after work with more frequency: cooking dinner, and revising.

I stare at the top drawer where the notes for the first go at editing for tropestory sit.

So back to the prompt at hand: what does keep people from writing?

As of right now, i’m currently underway with... let’s see, four... five? projects?

So to run it down, 

Currently I am working over the following (all of these are working titles, you’ll understand)

Contracts & the Vox

World for Worms (of which there are some 8-10k words that need transcribing)

Tropestory

Outlining for Tropestory Two

And then, a story set in the Vox universe that is ... semi-untitled?

It’s really strange that I am working on so many things after working on one thing exclusively for what felt like a year -- years even.

There’s a strange knack to this whole process.

I know that almost without a doubt, no one will read what I’m writing, this line even.

So why do I go?

People who get into a business for very specific reasons are very likely to be decimated upon finding out that things don’t really, ever work like what they were anticipating.

So the thing to keep in mind here is, if you keep your mind open, and you’re not viewing things as a business, especially as an amateur, and you’re not in it for wealth, exposure or fame... what exactly are you fighting for, and putting down words, inks or notes for?

You do it for the love of it.

It’s always important to remember that by the end of the day, when you create something, it’s not a means to an end. That’s the thing that one must be mindful about. True art is something that you are proud of, that while not at the time of creation, at least when looking over your work, you are happy.

There’s a reason why people, almost entirely as a class call those who appeal to the lowest common denominator and to that which is only salient in the minds of many “hacks” and “sell-outs”. 

That’s why, for this very moment, the only reason I write is to make those who do actually read my work happy, whether it is because they enjoy what I am writing, or because they are happy that I’m happy when I do it.

So I guess that’s an important first priority.

My first work has gone out to be evaluated and... perhaps accepted. April, and I’m almost done with my new years resolution. I sent my first works out, and either I’ll end up being happy with having a mildly rushed draft published, or alas, I will receive my first rejection letter.

Catch-22 is a phrase that comes to mind.

I’ve been having difficulty keeping my shit together recently.

Apparently I have a chemical dependency to painkillers, and I might have some chemical related headaches, be it through my consistent level of stress that is just a little bit too much, or having not eaten enough, and apparently my head feeling it before my stomach... Yeah. Life is going to be getting difficult before it gets simple.

I love how I had thought that the haphazard nature of things, all things occur once and forever in lines. ONE AFTER ANOTHER WOULD STOP.

But the saying goes that the plans of mice and men...

Yeah, however that goes.

Things are getting tougher than I’d expect. Wedding’s over, I’m a legally taken man. We have to plan for the reception, and the prices and the demands we’re looking over, they’re making my head hurt.

I wish I could be as calm as I was in my mind when I am not calm.

For if that were the case...

I’d probably be published by now.

This is not the end of things, but yet the beginning of still more.

I spoke to my father for the first time in... Two, three years? 

I was about use the facilities when I got the unknown number on my phone.

Let’s just say this was the most stressful, bloated thirty five minutes of one sided conversation I have ever had. And in my line of work, thirty five minutes on the phone without the ability to relieve your bowels... that’s a thing to make  man such as myself something cantankerous.

But I persisted.

And the thing that made me the most unhappy person about that conversation is that my father was asking questions about me, but he was answering them as well most of the time.

Things have not changed, and even more they remain the same.

Attempting a cocksure, uneasy facade, the man that helped give me flesh, he tried to act like years of emotional neglect and spontaneous abuses... they were just things that happened.

I hope to wring a confession and apology from him.

I get the feeling that regardless of whether that happens or not, after June or July, I will probably never speak to the man again, much less go to his funeral.

In this life of things, there is one thing that stands affront us.

The merits of responsibility, sensibility and the airs of either.

I did not invite my father to my marriage ceremony for all three of these reasons.

I am contemplating inviting him to my reception for all three of these reasons.

I am no heartless man who would deny someone... something their affection as it was their given due. But I would also be unfortunate man who would wring the happiness when they just thought it was theirs, just as that man ought wrung my neck many years ago.

I wonder which one of us will see stars, after this is said and done, and despite his best efforts, he is still a sad old man more a crone than a brave... and I go on in his place, to do those things his jaded mind only dare to think of.

A man must know his limits.

And I am happy to know these things. Limits are, as we know, the top or bottom bounds of any sets.

The important thing to keep in mind is

But not the type I want yet.

That job. It came and went. 

They were happy to have considered me, but at the very least, that’s one thing I don’t need to worry about. I’m nipping at my whiskey right now, but I’m not off kilter.

I’ve had a tough week.

But I’ve also had a cool week.

I’ve been dealing with work in the only way I can: surviving it. Today was the first time in four or so weeks that I have had to take a full day’s ibuprofen as opposed to just the half of a full daily maximum.

Baby steps.

Well hey, I have my ideal three monitor set up and a new phone, because my old one was going to shit. I have a new number, no longer someone else’s old number (it was previously my mom’s, and my grandfather’s) so this week, I fulfilled myself materialistically, but I think my spirit is kind of dying.

Dealing with my job, my mom and everything at the same time...

Well, let’s just say I’m nipping at coke and whiskey at 11pm on a friday, with no one to talk to. 

I feel like I’m bitching out.

But hey, at least I’m going to sleep in (probably) saturday morning, and get some work done with Dearn’s story, which despite having very little to go on, I know roughly what will be happening.

I’m only going to be submitting the first sixth of the manuscript. 

My heart feels warm.

I’m at the verge of something, I think.

I just hope I’ll come out on the right side of it.

And beyond that - 

Potential is one of the most potent things that has ever existed.

It’s even in the name.

Potent. Potent-ial.

With potential, there is a potential for a few things: to have it wasted, or to embolden that potential.

That’s why I’m going to be getting into shape... and also attempting to better myself, and get some more gainful employment.

Starting with bettering myself.

I’m going to be starting a schedule for writing and revising on a daily basis.

And I’ll be looking into doing various forms of exercise and dieting.

I’ve done couch to 5k before, but some harsh sickness kind of destroyed that progress I’d made.

Inertia is probably the second most important thing to have existed. Setting up things as an institution, a mainstay as it will, will be the second most important step to finally making ends to those projects that we all have started.

That is to say that hard work beats innate ability almost all of the time. 

While genius rests, determination continues.

And that’s what I will remain. 

Determined.

So.

Gainful employment.

My current employer, of whom I won’t name, because libel, or whatever... doesn’t really offer me much mobility.

Right now, I don’t have any ability to gain a raise per hour. BUT, I do have the ability to get raises, up to 5% of my quarterly income as a bonus, based on my performance, which is above average. 

So. I applied for another job.

I thought it would just... not get anything turned up.

But, apparently, not so much.

That being said, I have a phone interview for this new job.

I am literally pulling at my non-existent collar.

I did not at all expect this to happen, but it’s good to know that my professional services are... appreciated... and much more, valued.

I just hope that my work, in coming times... will be valued.

But that’s what this is about, continuing despite the value.

Despite the success.

A mind is a terrible thing to waste.

And it feels as if though every day I am wasting my mind to things that are of little to no consequence. Most things in my life are kind of on hold right now, but they’re going forward.

I applied to another job today.

This scares me.

And I feel like not going to sleep as a result of this and the other stimuli I’ve mentioned.

I am going to turn twenty-two in nineteen days.

And on some nights, I am still afraid of the dark.

As I sit here, right now, I have half of the lights on in my apartment. It’s 11 o’clock... but my mental hygiene is not helping things.

The last few nights I’ve went to bed and during the course of the night I’ve... had night terrors. I have had these in the past, but... not with the frequency I have been having recently.

I am scared of burdening change.

This much I do realize.

My dreams have bordered on the surreal, gone to the frightening, dissolving sets of character that go beyond my simplest understanding.

I wake up in the morning (or in the case of earlier this week, Wednesday, I think), after having had 3 hours of sleep... at 12PM. I awoke to my fiance next to me, safe and sound. Cuddles were attempted, but I still did lose my consciousness again, and then woke up at 5AM, like a normal day.

I wish I could get anything under wraps.

Today I was going to start doing some revisions on the Dearn’s story, after about an hour of playing around on my PC.

But then I realized I don’t have any idea what exactly I need to do with this document. I can’t even fathom editing at this point. 

I realize that everyone I want to talk to about this... just... doesn’t care. Except for my fiance. But she’s at work.

So the logical response here, stuck in my brain...

I start to fucking cry.

And then my mother calls me. This is the worst thing that could happen.

And this happens just as I sit down to continue transcribing Republican Works... and... shit. I didn’t get any work done today. 

I’m on the phone with her for about an hour.

And throughout she decides to bring up even more and more irritating things.

“I really like the one thing that you were writing before this one! This one... is just different.”

Yes. I’m sorry I have a different thing going here.

“Are you sure you want to get married?”

You’re shitting me.

“That thing you were writing before, you should send it in for publication RIGHT NOW.”

“You mean that fifty-thousand word document with... like seven thousand words of revisions... sitting as a first/second draft in my drawer?”

“Oh yeah, send in just the first draft. What, are you afraid of getting rejected?”

I’m the person here with a quest to get their first rejection letter. And I’m AFRAID OF REJECTION. 

Haha.

“This is literally making me physically frustrated.”

“But--”

“Physically frustrated.”

And then my fiance saved me by calling me on her break.

So there’s that.

All this being said, my life feels kind of like it is for lack of consistent friends to talk to. The only issue is I don’t want to bother people to bother with me.

Transcription continues, but that was going to be the case regardless.

I haven’t done any major rewrites or edits this week/since I last posted, but then again, I’m just blahing from left to right like a fish.

I’ve been putting myself through a little bit of improvement/self help these last few days. I’ve started back on iron supplements and now taking melatonin vitamins. Recently I’ve been having issues with all of the things that have been happening recently, be they the fact that they are existing, or the fact that I am more or less completely at the whims of fate in this regard, whether things come to or fro.

I’ve been restless recently, and it’s shitty. I can barely sleep through the night, and as my family continues to remind me, apparently not wanting to see my family on the weekends (when I would like to get transcription and edits done is a bad thing.

I like to think that I don’t care about the opinions of others, but unfortunately, there’s no real getting around it.

I’m in a holding pattern, and that makes me sad.

I mean, literally, until I’m wed, I cannot actually change anything.

So there’s about a month of my life that I can’t advance anything that otherwise would increase my mental hygiene.

I can’t stop my mother talking to me.

I can’t change my job.

I can’t even... ugh, I just can’t even.

I like to think these blogs are regarding the anxiety of writing and creating in general, but there’s a realization that I’ve come upon. 

I’m a phone monkey. I answer phones for a living.

And that has given me an interesting perspective on both waiting on hold and onto the task of writing.

Six months of writing is not six months of labor.

Most of the first draft of writing can be condensed down into about two or three weeks of straight work.

But the thing to keep in mind, whether it’s working phones, or writing, putting the receiver down and looking away, isn’t usually the end of a project... it’s the clarification of a project.

Time away from something, and looking at a different thing... it can make all the difference. 

Just consulting yourself or others will make things clear.

There’s no pressure to get everything done at once.

Just put your work on hold, but just keep it on your mind. 

Transcription continues. Currently in the process of hopefully getting some opinions on AWoW, as mentioned in the last installment. I seem to be coming down with the stomach flu; the status on that, is everything wants to come out of every hole, and it’s infuriating.

My eyes feel like they’re being weighted by heavy sporks tied to my feet.

Speaking of terrible things, I am a fucking mess right now.

This is probably the first time in my creative life where I actually have actual deadlines that I’m trying to meet that could hinder my progress, and I think my immune system and mental hygiene are suffering for it.

Before I actually maintained this blog, I was in the process of writing what might be the most terribly phoned in pieces of work with at least two minutes of promise in it... Down to One. 

During the duration of my summer breaks at that time, I put out at least a novella during that time, first during a ninety day period, and then, finally a month.

Long story short, those were really crazy endeavors, that somehow, I squeaked through. And those were all self-imposed deadlines. 

Now I’m going to be submitting AWoW (or some document with maybe a partial bit of it, as the first part is currently 12k+ words, and the hard limit for the place I will be submitting to is... 12,000 words. Normally this would not be an issue, but Dearn’s Pilot is almost completely a dialogue driven story. A story like that that is just missing... exposition dialogue, just won’t really work out. 

All of this, editorial decisions, grammatical and copy editing, done by... April 31st. 

That’s a great how do you do.

Anyway, on top of that, and my wedding’s happening next month.

Goodness, a stress sandwich.

So I have been building a wall.

The question is what does that have to do with writing?

I’ve been putting down a lot of efforts on a lot of fronts. Some of them being strictly writing an editing, but in the end, I’ve been having a lot of psychological... maintenance.

I’ve had a habit of biting my fingers (dermatophagia), and now I’m working on that. Apparently this is a type of behavior associated with the obsessive and those with ADHD. So that’s a fun thing. 

Giving words to the things that haunt us... give them staying power.

And in a way, isn’t that what writing is? Take that which could be defined, but remains nebulous, and make it stick down, with as many ten and twenty dollar words as you feel.

Speaking of twenty and ten dollar words, I put down a lot of one and five dollar words, and... now it exists in the world, and some people can read it. 

It’s a thing, and it’s about 11,000 words long, roughly, and it’s pretty different from the things I’ve written before... but the problem is, I don’t know if it’s good or just different. That’s a weird problem to have, but I guess it’s not uncommon, especially in the creative world. 

This being, said this is the first time I’ve completed a work, and without doing much at all of editing, sending it forward to people to have them look it over.