I wrote quite a bit this weekend. Finally got started on something that's been knocking around my skull for weeks. Transcribed some more from my journal. I noticed while I was writing that, sans many distractions I can actually be somewhat productive.
I find I'm still having the weird feelings about publication. It's this strange abivilance that I can't quite shake. On one hand I have this burning desire for satisfaction and "success" (whatever the FUCK I mean by that..don't ask) then on the other hand I just don't care what other people think because I know nobody is more of a critic than I am.
So what the fuck?
I am really annoying the piss out of myself with this whole thing. I keep trying to break it down and get my head around what my problem is.
As I said in an earlier entry part of it is the feeling that my writing is not yet up to par enough for me to be pimping it. I have very high standards and while I acknowledge that my writing is changing for the better (in my eyes at least) I am missing something vital enough that I spend inordinate amounts of time poring over what I've written trying to find it.
So yes on one front I realize and am confronting that issue. Which of course leads me to the next. I have a problem with audience. I don't particularly care about it. For as long as I can remember I've written for my own amusement. I write because I have all this crazy shit in my head and writing gets it out. It keeps me from muttering about men who beat each other senseless before fucking or have violent knife weilding sex in alleys (one of the best stories I've had published to date I must say). It keeps me from talking about pedophile eating baby demons, heroin induced daydreams, dead men and on and on. My subject matter frequently makes friends squirm, but it's in my head so out it comes.
The problem with that is this. When I start up my researching I find I have a sensitivity to where and whom I send what. Thus I send out nothing.
And last but not least is my weirdness around self publication.
I remember when I was a weecrankylittlebeasty and I collected and participated in a ton of zines. Armed with staples and copy machines some of my friends and I put out stuff we liked. I remember when self publication was the punk rock badass thing to do.
With the advent and spread of the net (I'm sure some of you know these people) it seems like every asshole with a keyboard and some spare time is suddenly a "published" author. Then said assholes run rampant on the internet proclaiming their own brilliance and the utter shit that anyone else writes. I have a dread (absolute phobia) of finding that one day I have become one of these assholes.
Rationally I know that isn't likely. I know myself too well and I am too strict with myself to succumb to that kind of ego maniacal bullshit but the fear is still there.
Not to mention given that I want (someday) to have writing be not only my vocation but my career, I don't want something I self publish to come back and bite me in the ass. I'm all too aware of how fickle people can be and how reputation can play into that.
So where am I going with all this bullshit?
Frankly, I don't know.
My goals as a writer feel too divergent to me to make sense. I don't fuckin know.
All I DO know is that I have clear cut idea of what I want to do with my writing quality/stylistically.
But anything else.
I just don't know.