"A few years ago, I got a call on my cell phone from a twelve year old child from my village. He was calling me from a bus stop. He’d taken a bus into the city alone, and he was calling me to ask if I could help him find a way to go to school. Both of his parents had died of AIDS, and he had no money for tuition. I told him to stay where he was, and left work immediately to pick him up. At first I was very mad at him. He should not have travelled alone. But then I looked at him and I saw myself. I’d also been desperate to go to school after my father was killed, but we had no money. So even though I was suffering myself, I told him I would try to help him. My salary was not enough, so I tried many things to get the money. After work, I went to the landfill to hunt for recyclables. But after I paid to have them cleaned, there was no money left. Now I’m trying to make bricks. I have a small operation in the village to make bricks, and I sell them in the city. It doesn’t make much money, but it’s enough to pay tuition for the boy and three of his siblings.”
A bad deal!
I took this picture of myself at the end of a day I spent in bed, scared and crying, feeling alone and hopeless and completely desperate.
This is the face of my mental illness. This is the face of my sadness when it is at its most inexplicable and its most pronounced.
I am not ashamed of it.
lionheart191 asked: How do you get over being over-critical of your own writing? I try, but sometimes I can't even put out a paragraph it's so bad.
I remind myself that no one day of writing matters all that much. A story is built somewhat like a stalactite - one little drip of mud and grit at a time.
I remind myself that the first few drafts are just for me. That gives me permission to let it be an ungodly mess, full of shit sentences and crap ideas, whipped into a creamy froth with the occasional bits that do work. Later I’ll winnow out the stuff that was no good. What remains will be (I hope) fun, economical, and lively.
It helps (me) to write longhand. I know no one is ever going to see my longhand draft but me. That’s a free pass to suck.
Also, though, I try and work small. If I think a scene blows dead rats, I’ll stop thinking about the big picture, and just think about the next sentence. If I can get down one sentence that really excites me, sometimes it will throw a spark powerful enough to bring a dying moment back to life.
WHAT HE SAID.
I think that may need more emphasis.
WHAT HE FUCKING SAID.
Last of the Boot Hill Rejects Gang.
Oh Christ, It’s This Asshole Again