Oh, today was one of those days where I started questioning EVERYTHING. I went to this Writer’s Group and not only were all the “Oh, I just decided to write this today because why not?” scenes amazing and well-written, but they were also clever ideas and very successful people (already working at their craft, PAID, and no one with side jobs at Uber or Starbucks – which is not to insult either of those, but to insinuate that not everyone chooses those careers for life).
And I was just sitting there, eating coffee cake, wondering if I should rewrite a scene where I have my character get stuck in a box. WE CAN’T ALL BE QUENTIN TARANTINO OR ALFRED HITCHCOCK OR NORA EPHRON OR ISSA RAE. SOME OF US HAVE TO BE SOMEONE ELSE THAT YOU’VE MAYBE HEARD OF BUT PROBABLY NOT.
I just realized, quite quickly, that my ideas are not very original, my writing is dialogue-heavy and not very interesting, and I should maybe stick to writing picture books (I can’t draw). What a DAY, PEOPLE. There are some days where I wonder if I was put on this planet to simply take up space and singlehandedly support the restaurant business in Los Angeles. (And disappoint my mother. Lest we forget…)
So now I’m questioning absolutely everything like 1. Should I even be a writer? 2. Do I actually look terrible as a blonde? 3. At what point does it stop being cute that I’m steadily gaining weight? A LOT OF WEIGHT?!? 4. How much Netflix is research and how much is too much? 5. Is there a way to ensure I’m reborn as a dog, but not just any dog, my dog, who is the cutest and gets all the loves and naps and food she wants? 6. BUT, LIKE, FOR REAL: SHOULD I BE A WRITER?
Day 29 – Questions. No answers.
A Year to Grieve 