Fuck! I did something all writers do at least once. (Or so I’m led to believe) I lost a story. Well, not really lost. That’s misleading, I more like mutilated it for publishing purposes and lost the original copy. The copy that matters.
I went through this phase a while back where I started digging into myself real hard and pulling out super rough personal stories. They hurt, but they worked. The one I lost is called, “Spiders in the Bathtub.” In it’s original version it is the closest story to my heart.
To appease lit magazines and editors, who were never going to give me a chance (for reasons I understand: the market is flooded, I’m an odd ball, etc. ect.) I tore out the heart of the story and shaved it down to microfiction or nanofiction, whatever the hell you want to call it.
But in doing so, the story isn’t itself. I have no connection to the piddly little 111 word stump I left behind.
No amount of recovery can bring back what I destroyed. (Tried that already) The full, REAL story is gone. It’s like I killed one of my children. I kinda really hate myself right now.
It wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t have realized this on the same day I was working through editing one of my worst stories for the collection I’m trying to piece together. But deciding to give up on that and then finding out that my favorite story is barely a shadow of itself just cut into me.
I’m back to the whole, “why do I even do this?” mentality now.
Writing is such an abusive relationship. I get hurt and hurt again and somehow I keep coming back for more.
It’s stupid because I do this to myself. I often fear I’m actually going insane.
And yet I stay. Here I am still writing, about writing no less.
Even better, I’m conflicted about the crap story that I just want to give up on. My boyfriend thinks I should fix it, my husband understands that I may not have the ability to make it work, these two have agreed on most everything else so far. It’s weird and they get along, so now I’m like what the fuck? (Marriage is what you make of it people, we’re happy so it works. Get over it. haha)
Maybe I should just go write a new story to balance myself out. That should do it.
I loooove writing; it’s all the other crap that comes with it that sucks.
Editing is hell.
Submitting is stressful and full of pain.
Having to alter your work for different editors is war.
Finally getting published isn’t a happy ending, reader feedback is another whirlwind of emotions.
It’s a clusterfuck! A shit storm! But I write for my characters: to share their stories and connect with other people on deeper levels.
So I’ll wade through the bullshit, deal with the muck, and keep at it.
Insanity: Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
I am fucking INSANE. I think all writers are and maybe that’s okay. Par for the course? haha