I don’t see the point of writing anymore
I don’t see the point of writing this anymore. I left a comment in someone else’s blog, and two feedbacks were quite negative. I realize that I will never please everyone, not even sure if I can please anyone with my writings. Have I come to Los Angeles to finally understand that it was time for me to abandon writing altogether?
I know why it took me so long to start a new book of my poetry kind of things. I did not see the point then, and now that I have started it, I think I will abandon it. I will most probably continue to write this blog, but I don’t think I will continue to put it online. That is how I feel right now, I will make a decision in a few weeks, perhaps days.
I am not certain if I wish to have another book published. I certainly don’t want to read critics or stupid comments about how screwed up I am anymore. It is too destructive and saps all my small remaining energy and motivation. In fact, I am really struggling to find a reason to even continue living.
I don’t like this world, I don’t like the people in it, I don’t like what I have to do to survive, to pay for my rent and food, I don’t like this life. Leonardo asked me yesterday if I would lose my wish to die if I were to become rich overnight. Maybe, because then I could isolate myself completely from everyone else, this world, and I would no longer have to work 9 to 5 in a job I hate. Then maybe I could live a better life in my total ignorance.
But then, what would happen when I sit at my computer? I’m not sure if suddenly I would start liking life. I could very well be as depressed. Maybe it is time I start considering taking these pills that would put a plastic smile on my face. Help me pretend that life is wonderful and love is the glue that links everyone together. I’d rather die.
I am exhausted. Dead tired. I cannot do anything anymore. I spoke with Stephen today and he agreed that I should remain one more month in L.A. than originally planned. So I am here for two more months and 20 days. He also said that it was time I got my ass into gear, and start contacting people. Something I have been dreading, and I don’t even know where to start.
What is the point of coming to Los Angeles when no one knows I’m here. I’m so convinced that rejection is what awaits me everywhere, that I don’t even want to bother trying. I don’t want to be a wannabe writer in Hollywood. I think I must have landed here by accident. It could have been Denver or Cleveland, it is Los Angeles.
And that is all there is to it. Sounds improbable, and yet, it seems to be the only conclusion. Unless something happens before I leave, a miracle, falling from the sky, since it is unlikely that I will try to meet anyone or try to sell my ideas and scripts.
Well, now I have met Leonardo, God knows, maybe that is enough. And I got the determination to start my own conference company. If any of these projects go ahead in time, then it would not have been wasted.
However I can’t stop thinking that there was something more that was supposed to happen to me in Los Angeles. A firm contract or the beginning of something huge that should be instant and concrete. Not “possibly something might happen in years to come”. No. It makes no sense.
I know I have at least this blog, but then again, this will not be published. It might end up on my website one day, when I feel the people concerned are too far away from me in time and place to affect them or me. Was it worth coming to L.A. just to write a diary about it, for nothing in the end but hurt the people I have met?
I know why it took me so long to start a new book of my poetry kind of things. I did not see the point then, and now that I have started it, I think I will abandon it. I will most probably continue to write this blog, but I don’t think I will continue to put it online. That is how I feel right now, I will make a decision in a few weeks, perhaps days.
I am not certain if I wish to have another book published. I certainly don’t want to read critics or stupid comments about how screwed up I am anymore. It is too destructive and saps all my small remaining energy and motivation. In fact, I am really struggling to find a reason to even continue living.
I don’t like this world, I don’t like the people in it, I don’t like what I have to do to survive, to pay for my rent and food, I don’t like this life. Leonardo asked me yesterday if I would lose my wish to die if I were to become rich overnight. Maybe, because then I could isolate myself completely from everyone else, this world, and I would no longer have to work 9 to 5 in a job I hate. Then maybe I could live a better life in my total ignorance.
But then, what would happen when I sit at my computer? I’m not sure if suddenly I would start liking life. I could very well be as depressed. Maybe it is time I start considering taking these pills that would put a plastic smile on my face. Help me pretend that life is wonderful and love is the glue that links everyone together. I’d rather die.
I am exhausted. Dead tired. I cannot do anything anymore. I spoke with Stephen today and he agreed that I should remain one more month in L.A. than originally planned. So I am here for two more months and 20 days. He also said that it was time I got my ass into gear, and start contacting people. Something I have been dreading, and I don’t even know where to start.
What is the point of coming to Los Angeles when no one knows I’m here. I’m so convinced that rejection is what awaits me everywhere, that I don’t even want to bother trying. I don’t want to be a wannabe writer in Hollywood. I think I must have landed here by accident. It could have been Denver or Cleveland, it is Los Angeles.
And that is all there is to it. Sounds improbable, and yet, it seems to be the only conclusion. Unless something happens before I leave, a miracle, falling from the sky, since it is unlikely that I will try to meet anyone or try to sell my ideas and scripts.
Well, now I have met Leonardo, God knows, maybe that is enough. And I got the determination to start my own conference company. If any of these projects go ahead in time, then it would not have been wasted.
However I can’t stop thinking that there was something more that was supposed to happen to me in Los Angeles. A firm contract or the beginning of something huge that should be instant and concrete. Not “possibly something might happen in years to come”. No. It makes no sense.
I know I have at least this blog, but then again, this will not be published. It might end up on my website one day, when I feel the people concerned are too far away from me in time and place to affect them or me. Was it worth coming to L.A. just to write a diary about it, for nothing in the end but hurt the people I have met?
posted by Mycroft Holmes @ 11:14 PM
1 comments
1 Comments:
Sometimes I feel how you do. I spend weekends in the city with my boyfriend and weekdays in a miserable little town surrounded by miserable little people going to a miserable little school that teaches me nothing. I write, and sometimes I do it well, but never well enough. I don't know what I want from life, but I know I want to write. If you want to do something, I think you've got to put yourself out there; you have to be ambitious, want hard and work harder. You're in LA, no one knows you're there, and you'll never know if you'll be rejected unless you put yourself out there... I'm not very good now. I write, but not well enough. I think the key is to keep writing, to read people who write better than you, and to learn. I had a class with this guy who wanted to be a writer, but he ignored all the professor's criticism-- open yourself up. You will be criticized. You will be rejected. This is the only way you'll learn how to get better.
The only thing that stands between you and what you want is YOU. It's cliche, but it's true. If you want it badly enough, you'll find a way to make it yours.
take care
(christy2u@gmail.com)
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