I write as if I’m running. Trying to get away from the last thing I wrote as fast as possible. It was true at the time, but the more I reflect upon it, the more holes I see in the argument. The language becomes clumsier with each passing moment. “What is this inspirational bullshit you are peddling?”, I think.
“Do you even believe that? Who the fuck do you think you are to speak up? Why are you adding to the amount of shoddily assembled ideas that are floating around out there?”
“If they really knew what you were thinking they would close down your whole deal, like one of those rabid dogs at a shelter.”
“Write something else, keep writing, and write again. Once you have written one thing, create a mountain that no one will be able to make heads or tails out of. Don’t let them pin you down. Are you getting closer to the truth or are you just kidding yourself, believing something because it fits in cozily with your world view?”
Doubt, doubt, doubt. Up above is a slightly fictionalized version of what I go through every time I write. However, I see doubt as a friend rather than an enemy. Doubt is not only what keeps the pen moving, but also the thing that keeps the ego from constantly writing self-satisfying screeds. It is the thing that sharpens the blade. If you don’t doubt yourself from time to time you end up like Sarah Palin, creating sound without meaning. If you are lucky, like she was originally, you might end up with fifteen minutes of fame, but eventually you’ll be irrelevant. Doubt only becomes the enemy if it shuts down your whole operation. I think you want enough doubt that you never feel content, that you never stop questioning. I like to invite doubt in. I just don’t want it to stay too long, preventing me from getting on with other things. It’s a balance I guess. Doubt, failure, obsession, limitation, and so on. Everything bad is good for you if you can keep the doses manageable…
It’s funny how a fool can see the light
When the sun goes down
– Conway Twitty In My Dreams