Sunday, 20 July 2008

The Three Gifts

When my Fairy Godmother (A.K.A. The Fairy God-Cat) cursed me at birth she didn't mess about. Those Three "Gifts" she gave me were the ones that any sane person dreads:


Individually, not so bad you might think. But as a combination quite capable of destroying the mind and soul of the fainthearted. Luckily I have the heart of an ox. I keep it pickled in a jar in the cupboard.

1) WRITING - quite a cool gift you might imagine, unless of course you are afflicted with it.

If I don't write regularly I start to lose my grip on reality: one month without any kind of writing and I start to slip into minor insanity... I tried it once as an experiment.

Really. Not. Pleasant.

I am only loosely connected to sanity at the best of times, I tend to orbit around sanity rather than live hand-in-hand with it the way most people seem to. So when I say the feeling of losing your grip is unpleasant, I'm already starting from a point a ways off normal. (I know some other writers are afflicted with this curse, so don't pretend you're not aware of the feeling I'm talking about gentle readers! YES, I am looking at you. Stop trying to hide behind that cup of expresso!)

The other problem with being afflicted with writing, is that I really know that I can write. ... It's not some half-hearted optimism, but a firm belief. No, it's more than that! I actually KNOW that I can write.

I'm a fanatic when it comes to my belief in my ability to write. It isn't a wishy-washy spurious system of belief like say 'a belief in the existence of God'
(Or gods? Whatever, choose your poison).

I KNOW I CAN WRITE. IT IS WHO I AM. - - Which links into the whole boundless optimism thing.

You could present me with an affidavit which says that "Eleanor is a bad writer" signed by every writer there ever was, is, or ever will be, and it wouldn't make a dent. ... I'm a bit of an ego monster about my writing. Perhaps a quiet monster that prefers to lurk rather than being the type of monster who shouts from the rooftops or swings from buildings, but a monster nonetheless. *sigh* Told you it was a curse.

2) PROCRASTINATION - "So what?" you say, "Every writer indulges in that particular paddling pool."

Yeah, okay, fair cop. But when you really know you can write and then get no where fast doing it, the doubts creep in. And that's not just doubts about your ability as a writer, that's doubts about your whole reason for being.


3) BOUNDLESS OPTIMISM - which drags me back into the whole vicious circle of hell that keeps me always looking for that next story, the next hit, this might be the one...

*gnashes teeth*

So, gentle readers, were any of you cursed at birth? And if so, with what?
Enquiring minds need to know. Fess up, I double dare ya.

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