Working on writing, but still not writing.

I finished Miriam Gershow's first novel, The Local News,  the other day.  It was amazing, and I immediately handed it off to a good friend of mine because I liked it so much.  What I particularly enjoyed about this book is that I met Miriam when I was running a reading series for Portland State University, and that she told me that she was able to find an agent with a collection of short stories.  This is unusual and encouraging for someone like me.  Soon I will shop out this collection.  Hopefully I will have the same luck as Miriam.

I re-read a short story I wrote a year or so ago (maybe longer) and I'm feeling more encouraged, like, why did I think that this was so bad?  Why did I give up?  And then, ok, what can I do about this now?

Back to Miriam's book....I also appreciated that she's slightly older...mid to late thirties, I believe, and this is her first book.  I (for some reason) keep pushing myself to hurry up, that I'm falling behind, that I missing out on something, that I'm not trying hard enough and I'll never get to where I want to be going....but there's no reason for that.  I'm just holding myself back, paralysing myself with these shitty thoughts of failure and (self) disappointment.

So I'm feeling slightly better.  More encouraged.  Convinced, I suppose, that I can do it, that I do have what it takes, deep down, and that I need to stop freaking myself out and holding myself back.

What I really need to do is to stop comparing myself to my writer friends.

On another note, I've been reading Lee Smith's colleciton of shorts: Me and My Baby View the Eclipse.  It's refreshing reading some Lee again.  My voice is so similar to hers and that makes me feel encouraged because I respect her so much.  If she can do it, surely I can too, yes?  Yes.

I'm making lists for myself.  Going to get things done.  Stop falling in love and fucking around and buckle down, put on a pot of strong tea, and get to typing.  Edit that pile of MSs sitting on my nightstand, do the research about the chapbook, submit to lit journals.  Do it!  I have to push myself.  This is one of the hardest parts about being in Charlotte instead of being in a writing city like Portland.  I don't have a lot of motivation and I have too many excuses.  I'm always looking for a way out when I should be rattling my keys, finding my way back in.

I've been gone for too long.

Ok, so I've been distracted.  I've been in love with wine and nights watching TV with a friend, sitting outside before the summer heat really kicks in, talking about our nation's death penalty and the current crisis in the Gulf, thinking about future plans, still never really knowing if this is it.  Still not knowing much of anything.
Meanwhile my other writer friends are moving gracefully ahead and beyond me and I wonder if I will ever catch up.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.  Chasing a dream is hard work, and not for the weak of heart like me.  Time to open a vein and start writing again.