The Writing Life.

The writing life.

The life of the writer is awful.

Do not engage in this life as it will consume you.

“Of course we are nuts, we sit around and have conversations in our minds with people that we create.” ~David Mamet.

The following will be my life. It will be a microcosm of my life on a daily basis in Austin.

Wake up. Usually around 8 or 9 depending on what had happened the previous day. Immediately the thoughts start. Once I wake up there is no going back to sleep as my conscious won’t let me. I am like the kid on Christmas that cannot get back to sleep when I wake up at 4 AM by accident. I must run around and wake up the rest of the house as it is a new day.

Drink about a pot of coffee and check the Internet. This usually takes about an hour as I ingest everything that has happened over the time of my slumber. The thoughts continue and begin to mount on my back.

“What am I going to write?”

“When am I going to write?”

I try to drown them out with music. I try to talk to my roommates and ignore the voice.

I then depart for “work.” It is not really work as I go to an office and either do random movie things or theatre things. Both do not cause stress and allow me time to think.

“Why did this happen last week?”

“What does it mean that traffic was better today?”

“Can I use that in a story?”

“I can write a story about traffic?”

“When am I going to write?”

I finish work and return home. It is usually around 3 in the afternoon and I have the rest of the day in front of me. Most of the times I find beer as that is the best way to limit the noise. Other times I sit and sulk. I have mood swings as I am completely happy with my exterior life, but my mind is racing on a treadmill going nowhere.

“What movie should I watch?”

“Why should I watch that movie?”

“What does that movie mean to society?”

“What do I mean to society?”

“Where is the beer?”

This continues until it is time to eat. I eat and hope to find something to do with my roommates that removes me from the terrible feeling that I am useless. I play chess to exercise my mind. I read books to distract my thoughts. A monkey resides on my back and it mounts the pressure when I don’t write.

“Why am I not writing?”

“When will I write?”

“What will I write about?”

“Will they like it?”

“I need to make it better than last time.”

“Ok, I just need to start.”

“After a movie. I will watch a movie then I will sit down and write.”

I watch a film with my roommates and it is getting late. My mind is obviously exhausted from the day and does not want to think. I will just rest tonight and eat ice cream. I will just relax and write tomorrow. That’s it. I will spend the whole day writing tomorrow. I will write the best piece yet and the thoughts will just sort themselves out. I lie to myself on a daily basis.

“Why did you not write today?”

“You are a bad writer.”

“You’ve lost whatever you had.”

“You are not disciplined enough for this.”

“Why are you even trying?”

“You are not good enough.”

These thoughts ride me to bed. Most of the time it is an unsettled rest. Most of the time I toss and turn. I never say what is wrong and blame other things for my restless appearance. I keep a smile and slowly slip into depression. It is not a bad depression; it is something with a very easy and logical cure. The trick is to get to that cure.

These thoughts riddle me on a daily basis. These thoughts case me to live on the spectrum of emotions. I am never really even keeled. I am never just there. I am either elated and ready to climb a mountain. Or, I am defeated and up doesn’t really mean up anymore.

I am writing this as I am in a cycle. Life is a cycle. Life is this cycle that causes you to ride and ride until you need to chill it out. The past few days this cycle has been spinning out of control. I know that I am in charge of the spinning. I know that I am my own worst enemy. I know that is true with everyone. We are the gauge on our stress level. I know that I am stubborn and this causes me to always catch the lever when it is too late.

This is the life of a writer. Being a writer is like living. Writers never know where anything is going. Writers thing about everything way too much. This is how life is for most of us. It is a journey in which there is not end. It is a journey that if you cause yourself in a direction, and force yourself to being right because you are stubborn, you will never be happy.

You may be asking, why do I write. If it is so miserable, why do I do it? My answer, is that it makes me happy. It is the thing in this world that makes me the happiest. When I am in line, nothing can bring me down. It is my drug. It is my addiction. It is my Love. Like any Love, it is always amazing when I find it and heartbreaking when I can’t get close to it.

One of my closest allies always tells me this:

“Never let the boat of writing get too far away from the dock.”

This means, never stop writing. Never stop as it becomes like exercise. Once you stop exercising, the longer it goes the more intimidating it is. Writing is exercise. It is always easy and up to you as a person. The further it goes, the harder it is to get back.

Never let the boat of life get too far from the dock without you on board. You know when life is spinning. Have the courage to hit the reset button and love the details again.

This has helped in so many ways. Thank you for reading and get the axis of life back.

Moral: Writing and life are the same thing. I have recently had a Dave Chappelle shut down moment when everything is out of my control and the stress of the conscious is too much. Love the breathe you are inhaling.