This is a simplified version of a long story of this thing I’m dealing with right now.
Several times in the last many years I have considered “quitting” writing. I’d still jot notes and keep a notebook and write things here. But I’d quit writing fictional stories with an intent for sale. Previously, this idea caused me a great deal of distress.
But I had this notion again a few months ago and I tell you it was like the promise of a monkey off my back. Imagine waking up Saturday morning and not thinking about sitting at my desk all morning trying to do something that other people will like. My best writing time is 6am to Noon so I prefer to avoid anything that will distract me during that time including not staying up too late the night before. I took this idea to the extreme: imagine getting rid of all these stupid writing books on my shelves and emptying out my files of articles and ideas. And all the things I could do with that time instead: cooking, actually gardening vs. just trying to keep things under control, watching sports, visiting with friends. The list goes on.
A big part of my issue is that, particularly in the last year or so, I have begun to loathe writing. It’s like pulling teeth to get my butt in the chair every time. Only 1 out of 3 times do I even manage to produce anything or perhaps experience a moment or two of enjoyment. Who does things for recreation that she hates?
But it bothers me that I now hate something I used to love so much and I know at least partly why and I don’t want to get into a 20 screens of my whole inner psychology, I’m trying to sort this whole thing out.
The point of this post, is that since I had this idea, that I might officially quit this exercise in humiliation and disappointment, I have had two new acquaintances ask to read my manuscript without any urging from me. This is almost as much interest as I had when I actively tried to market the stupid thing.
This morning I cleaned out my writing box — archived stuff that sits in the garage — tracking down the most recent versions and in the bundles of papers I found all kinds of notes of encouragement.
I don’t know. I haven’t made up my mind yet.