professional jealousy meets laziness

I’ve slumped.

Sometimes I’m going along really well, writing, reading, editing, that I can’t imagine not continuing on that path forever. Then, all of a sudden, I stop, unable to figure out what happened. Well, summer happened. Going on vacation happened. A stream of people visiting me happened. Still, I have time. If I really cared about writing, wouldn’t I find a few pockets here and there to scribble something furtively down?

The answer, it seems, is no.

I read a book last week, plenty of recommendations on the cover, write-ups in The Globe and Mail, and just felt like shit afterwards. As I flipped the pages, I thought to myself I write better than that. As I read each page, I felt like grabbing a pen and marking up where the story needed edits (I was reading on my iPad so I refrained). When I got to the end and saw how many of the stories had been published elsewhere, including in fancy literary journals that, as of yet, have not accepted my stuff, I got angry. How can these stories, with inconsistent voices, over-expositioned, and obvious narrative be published while I languish here, unloved and unpublished? I asked myself. I stomped around our rental cottage. I yelled at Geoff how unfair it was.

Geoff reminded me that I had been published – just not a book. And he reminded me we don’t live in a meritocracy. It doesn’t matter if my stuff is better (as amorphous and vague as that can be for fiction). People aren’t published over other people because they are better. People get published because of talent, connections, being in the right place at the right time, knowledge, bribes, favours, and mostly luck.

And, of course, I haven’t been writing much. I can’t really expect celebrity to fall into my lap when my body of work is negligible. I can’t be a writer if I don’t write.

I’m trying to unslump (inflate?). My course starts in September. I was accepted into an online writing group. So I’ll have accountability. Still, something inside me still nags me quietly to give up. Sometimes when this happens, I suddenly get an acceptance that buoys me back up. Other times, I have to make myself work on my own. I think it is one of those other times.