Mad about Everything
These days, I'm mad about everything.
My membership on fanstory.com expired the other day. Wasn't too sure how I felt about that. I already decided that I wouldn't renew it. I sometimes wonder how serious I am about writing when I won't go through the trouble of promoting something. And that has always been a problem for me. I live amongst a collection of people who simply don't read. I hate begging people to read my work and I have spent years (literal years) waiting for some people to read my stories.
It was because I discovered that one of the major reasons why I was writing at all was because I wanted to write something that my family would enjoy. It was my biggest wish that I would be able to write something that my mother would like. I gave her one of my stories and do you know what she said? She said it was too dark. My mouth practically hung open like a fish's. She didn't finish it and now I won't give her a manuscript. I can't stand the idea of having to wait months to hear her response. Not to be insulting, but all she reads is Jane Austen anyway - which is one of the reasons why I begin to hate her (Jane Austin that is). I feel a curious itch somewhere in my throat when I think about how many times she's read 'Pride and Prejudice' and she can't read my work.
Am I really that poor of a writer?
Then the other person I really have on the brain is my husband's father. He is a person of such style and elegance when it comes to literature that I fear his disapproval so much that even thinking about it hurts my feelings to such a degree that I can summon tears. However, he has never rejected my work. He hasn't even seen it. He isn't interested in it. Well, anyone who's read my stuff is probably sitting there going, "Well, no wonder."
Now we move onto another reason why I have begun to hate Stephenie Meyer. 'Eclipse' still sucked, but the thing that actually hurts my feelings (forget her story - that doesn't matter to me very much) is how she talks about the way her family encourages her. It makes me want to have a pity party to celebrate my wretchedness. Yeah, my family isn't there for me - hasn't been there for me in this area.
So, I have my girls and boys who read on fanfiction.net and I love them. They keep me up. And I have a few friends and relatives that read my work and enjoy it, but sometimes it just feels meaningless when I can't have the approval of the people I really want it from. It makes me wonder how stingy I've been with my approval of others. I'm like that, too, aren't I? I have to make sure it doesn't happen again. I'm not even sure if I know how to give it. Whenever I praise someone it feels like it sounds phony coming out of my lips - like I'm intentionally trying to butter them up. I need to work on sounding sincere.
I don't know what I want exactly. Maybe I want to make my mom laugh and maybe I want my father-in-law to think I'm a little clever (destroying him at Scrabble doesn't offer me even the slightest feeling of satisfaction - I only win because I have the two letter dictionary memorized - it's practically cheating).
So, I'm mad about everything. It feels like there's an iron hand clenching my heart and it won't let go. And tonight - my heart is so green it's glowing through my eyes. I feel like I envy no one. No one has what I want, but I want it so much it feels like sinning. It feels so far beyond my reach that I can never hold it - not even for a moment. All my mother is ever impressed with is my statistics and my father-in-law avoids the topic like the plague. He thinks I'm going to make him read bad poetry - I can FEEL it.
Maybe the Heaven I enter when I die will be all my relatives sitting down with a foam cup full of noodles and a copy of my latest book.
My membership on fanstory.com expired the other day. Wasn't too sure how I felt about that. I already decided that I wouldn't renew it. I sometimes wonder how serious I am about writing when I won't go through the trouble of promoting something. And that has always been a problem for me. I live amongst a collection of people who simply don't read. I hate begging people to read my work and I have spent years (literal years) waiting for some people to read my stories.
It was because I discovered that one of the major reasons why I was writing at all was because I wanted to write something that my family would enjoy. It was my biggest wish that I would be able to write something that my mother would like. I gave her one of my stories and do you know what she said? She said it was too dark. My mouth practically hung open like a fish's. She didn't finish it and now I won't give her a manuscript. I can't stand the idea of having to wait months to hear her response. Not to be insulting, but all she reads is Jane Austen anyway - which is one of the reasons why I begin to hate her (Jane Austin that is). I feel a curious itch somewhere in my throat when I think about how many times she's read 'Pride and Prejudice' and she can't read my work.
Am I really that poor of a writer?
Then the other person I really have on the brain is my husband's father. He is a person of such style and elegance when it comes to literature that I fear his disapproval so much that even thinking about it hurts my feelings to such a degree that I can summon tears. However, he has never rejected my work. He hasn't even seen it. He isn't interested in it. Well, anyone who's read my stuff is probably sitting there going, "Well, no wonder."
Now we move onto another reason why I have begun to hate Stephenie Meyer. 'Eclipse' still sucked, but the thing that actually hurts my feelings (forget her story - that doesn't matter to me very much) is how she talks about the way her family encourages her. It makes me want to have a pity party to celebrate my wretchedness. Yeah, my family isn't there for me - hasn't been there for me in this area.
So, I have my girls and boys who read on fanfiction.net and I love them. They keep me up. And I have a few friends and relatives that read my work and enjoy it, but sometimes it just feels meaningless when I can't have the approval of the people I really want it from. It makes me wonder how stingy I've been with my approval of others. I'm like that, too, aren't I? I have to make sure it doesn't happen again. I'm not even sure if I know how to give it. Whenever I praise someone it feels like it sounds phony coming out of my lips - like I'm intentionally trying to butter them up. I need to work on sounding sincere.
I don't know what I want exactly. Maybe I want to make my mom laugh and maybe I want my father-in-law to think I'm a little clever (destroying him at Scrabble doesn't offer me even the slightest feeling of satisfaction - I only win because I have the two letter dictionary memorized - it's practically cheating).
So, I'm mad about everything. It feels like there's an iron hand clenching my heart and it won't let go. And tonight - my heart is so green it's glowing through my eyes. I feel like I envy no one. No one has what I want, but I want it so much it feels like sinning. It feels so far beyond my reach that I can never hold it - not even for a moment. All my mother is ever impressed with is my statistics and my father-in-law avoids the topic like the plague. He thinks I'm going to make him read bad poetry - I can FEEL it.
Maybe the Heaven I enter when I die will be all my relatives sitting down with a foam cup full of noodles and a copy of my latest book.
posted by Sapphirefly at
10:13 p.m.
2 Comments:
I feel like that too.
My family and friends simply don't read. If I give my mom something I wrote for her to read... she'll put it aside and pretend she read it. No one in my family supports me in my writing... and whenever I mention it they just say "Just focus on becoming a nurse and making a lot of money".
Yeah I read Stephenie Meyer saying her family supported her. And I hated her for that too.
And Christopher Paolini, the author of Eragon, also had a lot of support from his family.
Writers who are shy about their work really depend on their family's support and validation... but sometimes it's impossible.
By
algelic, at 4:55 p.m.
I'm really glad I'm not the only one who feels this way. But since this post, I've gotten a lot grouchier. But not so mad at them anymore. I should write another post about how I'm doing now, since I feel differently.
By
Stephanie Van Orman, at 5:07 p.m.
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