Crisis of faith

[fictional]

I cannot write. Or rather I can, it's just crap, pure and simple.
What am I doing? For $.02 I'd hang it all up and go put on a skirt and some heels and get an office job.

What's the point of all this if nothing I write is any good?! I gave up something I had really really really wanted to do on Sunday, to sit here and slug away, and I just read over the result and it tastes like ashes in my mouth. It's like sex when sex is dead: just wet slimy foreign objects working away at each other. Blood, sweat and tears, + agonizing indecision, and I just feel like a talent-less hack.

And this was it - my last chance. It's even a compromise - if not art, then study. They used to say wizardry was an inborne art, but alchemy is learnt. And I was hoping, really hoping to at least have that.

Comments

[rm.livejournal.com]

I don't know what you're working on, so there is only so much insight I can offer, but:

1) seems like a bad day all the way around
2) part of an academic career is teaching and part of teaching is knowing what it feels like when it's just not happening.
3) This may not be convenient, but it _is_ useful, and it's not permanent.

[kalichan.livejournal.com]

Thanks. I think I probably really needed to hear that.
When I'm within the pits of despair, I can never remember or process that it's finite.
And I _still_ kind of can't, so hearing it from the outside is always unexpected, and deeply appreciated.

Hope your day tomorrow (later today?) goes well.