Hello to all my faithful, thanks for stopping by the blog and taking an interest in what I have to say. Truthfully, I'm not typically this honest with those outside my small circle, but lately, I feel as though I am the only person in my circle so I'm venturing out. At my core, I'm an insecure person who needs constant validation, probably because I've never felt good enough.
I know, sounds stupid right? Well, my issues go way back and I'm too old to learn new tricks, so here we are. Several years ago, before I knew shit about blogs and was the last person to get a MySpace account (just as everyone was moving to Facebook), I used to send out a newsletter filled with my deepest thoughts to my closest friends. Before that, I used to keep a journal. The newsletters were helpful to me because it gave me an opportunity to sort through my thoughts and emotions in the hopes of solving whatever dilemma I was experiencing at the time. My friends used to write me back with advice, affirmations, or simple compliments. It used to get me through the day. But friends move, they get busy, and time takes it's piece out of all of us. When we finally see one another, we don't talk about the bad because we'd rather celebrate our reunion. Soon, every person is an island and they've been there so long they don't bother putting out on SOS.
As a public personality I often feel like sharing myself is outside the bounds of good judgement. After all, people don't really want to know me, they want to know about the fiction I create. And for the most part, that's perfectly acceptable to me. However, the problem I am faced with currently is I can't create. I can't create because I'm living in the real world and its sort of kicking my ass right now.
I should be on cloud nine! The Dark Duet is still paying my rent (thank God), I have a graphic novel in the works, I've made the USA Today and the NYT, I get over 100 new likes on my Facebook page weekly, and in a few weeks I'll start touring - life should be fucking great! So why can't I 'get it up'?
My life isn't glamorous. I do the same things every day. I wake up and get my kids ready for school, drop them off, hit the gym, come home and clean my house, and then try to write something before I have to pick up my kids, do homework, start dinner, and try to be as attentive to my family as I can. In summation, I'm probably no different than everyone else. That said, I have to wonder if everyone else feels as lost and lonely as I often do.
People often ask where my characters come from and the truth is, they are pieces of me. They hurt deeply and hide it well. They fight tooth and nail for the things that matter. They see things in grey because they've learned there is no black or white. They lash out and inflict as much pain on others as they feel themselves. They're assholes. They're funny. They're willing to do anything to be loved, but terrified to love because they fully expect to find themselves alone one day. They don't live in the moment, but in a preconceived and bleak future. They self-destruct.
I'm self-destructing. For months, I've been hiding from my laptop, unable to write anything meaningful because it means I would have to open up a vein and bleed my truth. I don't want to write. I don't want to acknowledge that there are parts of me missing. Because, where did they go? How do I get them back? What stupid thing will I do to feel alive again? Who pays the price for my restlessness?
I spend all my free time with my face buried in books I didn't write. I ignore calls. I don't answer emails. I don't stock my fridge until I absolutely have to. I don't dream. I don't fantasize. I just read other people's words, letting them distract me. I'm ruining what could be a promising career because I cant. Fucking. Write!
I thought posting my teaser for Commitment would galvanize me into knocking out the chapters floating around in my brain. I wrote 500 words and then reached for my Kindle. Pathetic.
In this moment of lucidity, I've written this post for myself. I've put it out to you so that you can kick my fucking ass and hold me accountable. Remind me that what I'm doing is weak and I'm not allowed to wallow in self-pity. Boo-fucking-hoo, CJ! You have one damn thing you do well and that's write! You want to be worth something? You want to prove you've got what it takes? No one is going to give you anything; you have to take it! Stop being a whiny little bitch and put some damn words on paper because otherwise, you're just a sad mess of a girl who would rather read than live out her dreams. Stop being someone you can't stand. You want to be happy? Take your pills. You want to be an artist? Write.