THANKS A LOT
So, I finished reading Felicia Day’s “You’re Never Weird on the Internet (Almost)” and I’ve never cared much for memoirs but this was more of an inspirational read than a tell all book.
Before I begin talking about how awesome this book was I figured I should get some fancy wine and swivel it in a glass, so I did.
This book made me do a lot of thinking, and I sure DON’T LIKE THINKING, especially about myself. Especially when I don’t know as much as I thought I did about myself. I know I know, “TOO DEEP, TOO DEEP, I JUST WANTED TO READ THIS TO SEE WHAT YOU WERE UP TO. I DON’T WANT TO READ ABOUT YOUR SELF CRISIS”. Sorry, I trapped you into reading this. (No, I’m not sorry)
I haven’t told anyone lately but I’m REALLY unhappy with my life at the moment and what I’m doing, or not doing. I’ve actually been pretty depressed, and I couldn’t explain or pinpoint why I was feeling this way until now.
I’m not doing what I WANT to be doing. What I’m doing isn’t truly bringing me the happiness I wanted, and yet again here I am stuck back at square one. It feels like the last six years of my life has been me hitting the repeat button over and over again. “Yeah I want to finish my story, but it’ll get done eventually I have time.” or “I’ll do it during summer break.” or the number one hit track “I’ll do it during NaNoWriMo.” As if you couldn’t guess it by now, I’ve not finished my story. I’m 27,000 words in and I’ve hit a block.
…Or at least that’s what my excuse is whenever people ask me what I’m doing with my life. “Oh yeah I’m an assistant teacher BUT I’m really working on my story that i hope to self-publish one day, no wait come back! don’t give me that look. nooooooooo 8,C ”
I feel like by giving myself the label “oh but I write occasionally.. maybe” I’m sabotaging myself from ever actually doing it. Every time I set a goal for myself or a specific date I never meet that date or goal because I put it off or I put myself down. “Who’s going to read it? no one.” “what’s the point if I’m gonna be the only one who cares?” “WHY AM I BOTHERING?”. So with all this going on I decided “fuck it, if I do it, I do it, I’m not gonna push myself because who’s really gonna give a shit?” and thus began my summer of bumming it and lying to people “oh yeah, I’m… working on my story. sure. ???” Lies. The most I did was make a Spotify playlist for my story, and that was a huge accomplishment for me.
I guess I should talk about “the story” I’ve been working on. “The Coldest Winter” has been a project of mine for the last 5 years, I’ve had the general characters and ideas for years before I even put it to paper but with the help of my dear friend Ceri she grilled me in a Starbucks for over 4 hours until she helped me write my story outline (there was a lot of tears and iced coffees).
“The Coldest Winter” is about a world where the Cold War is still happening, the U.S. has become so paranoid that the country becomes a governed state, tldr; there’s these genetically enhanced kids one of them is a trained sleeper assassin who becomes brainwashed by this sketchy government agency and programmed to commit terrorist acts and set up to be a Russian spy.
This story has become my life, it means so much to me. It is my child. And I DON’T want to fuck it up. I think this is one of the reasons why I keep backing out, I’m afraid of failure. Which is a very valid fear, but I can’t let this hold me up forever. If it’s one thing I learned from my hellish botched liver surgery that almost cost me my life it’s that I shouldn’t live to regret things and I should never take things for granted. I feel like I’ve been given a gift, my creativity and my ability to write, and I don’t want to waste it and spend my whole life thinking “I’ll get to it eventually.”
So, back to Felicia Day’s book and how it inspired me.
A lot of her experiences were very similar to mine, it was nice to see “oh hey I’m not alone in this.” I felt like Felicia was more or less forcefully encouraging me to write my story, even if I fail writing my story it’s something I love and want to do. Which is better than being miserable.
TLDR; I cried a lot reading Felicia’s book because it home. And I cried even more because she favorite my tweets. Ugly sobbing
Which brings me to my current job. It pays the bills. kind of.
I definitely don’t wanna do it the rest of my life, but it’s fine temporarily. I also feel like it’s a good motivation to finish writing my story otherwise I’ll be unhappy with a job that doesn’t fit me.
The other day I was on my way home and since I’ve been feeling less than stellar I put my story playlist on shuffle and Kanye West’s “Stronger” came on. And that’s when I knew what I had to do. I have to write this story. Even if I have to verbally abuse myself everyday I don’t write. Hell, you guys can even join in and pester me about it.
I’m so excited (and scared) to do this, but if I don’t take a risk and let my doubt and anxiety hold me back I’ll never know.
So cheers, here’s to not fucking this up!