I’m a fraud. I’m such a fraud. I write health and fitness articles and I haven’t exercised or slept properly in the last two months. I write pieces on how not to procrastinate and then I spend three hours on Blogshares. I give advice about getting organized and the chi in my room is huffing and puffing out of suffocation.
Yeah, I’m a fraud.
This is an entry from my journal from October. For a few brief seconds, I felt the same way today.
A friend and fellow writer wrote on her blog about how her success plan till today has consisted of “junk food binges, two hour phone conversations, countless hours of TV and pointless (but enjoyable) shopping sprees.” I was in total agreement with what she was saying since that’s pretty much been my modus operandi for the past two months and in a weirdish way, I was happy that I wasn’t the only writer in the universe with absolutely no motivation (hey, misery loves company!).
I was in total head-bobbing state, right until she started quoting, uh, well… me.
What she quotes me as saying will come as no surprise to any of you. Challenge your limits. Break the rules. Make goals outside your comfort zone. The more that you put out there, the more will come in. These are things I’ve said several times on this very blog. And yes, till recently, I did pitch a lot, in the form of phone calls, emails, and meetings with editors. In fact, I’ve always been workaholic to a fault, obsessive about getting new work, and have rarely ever been broke (I saw my family fall apart after a financial crisis and resolved never to let that happen again).
But lately, I’ve been a total slacker. I haven’t felt like writing for publication, but what seemed worse is that I haven’t felt guilty about it, being perfectly happy poring my heart out in my journal, and sending 2,000-word emails to (semi) interested folks. Hence the feeling of wanting to stamp FRAUD on my forehead. Forget ten pitches a week, I couldn’t do one today if you paid me to. And I’d actually pay for a good idea right now.
Whatever happened to the obsessive-compulsive slave-driving Mridu who actually cared about having money in the bank? I kinda liked her.
I’m no good at the psychoanalysis, but I’m sure it has to do with the unraveling and rebuilding of my personal life. In my part of the world, a majority of women will live with their parents till they get married after which they’ll move out to live with their husband’s family. And they will get married. It’s not a choice. Fortunately, my parents have always taught me to follow my heart even if that now means I’m standing on the opposite side of the fence as them. So when I declared that I didn’t want to get married, challenged their age-old customs and decided to move out to be on my own, it was anything but pretty. To add to that, I decided to split up with the guy I’d been dating for four years.
Even though I suddenly had more writing material than ever, my response was classic: I blocked up. Needless to say, that affected my writing.
I realize that this may come across as unprofessional and un-businesslike to many, but I really don’t know when (or why) it became taboo to be an artist. I very much see myself as an artist, and almost everything I write is extremely personal, coming straight from my heart. You can’t walk away from a piece of my writing not knowing a little more about the person behind the words. That, I believe, is how it is with most writers. Many people write to thank me for my honesty. Some say it’s my style. Frankly though, it’s not deliberate. I just don’t know any other way to write (I’ve tried being pretentious. Really!). Seeing how writing is such a personal part of my being, when something else inside me is aching, I do experience a breakdown in my creativity as well.
Aside from the urgent work on my desk, I didn’t do anything. No new pitches, no new essays, no blog entries, no newsletters. Nothing.
But eventually the inflow of money to the bank does stop, and the bills don’t. And I’m reading my own advice and thinking, yeah, that’s what I should be doing.
More importantly, I’m realizing that even though my family’s thoroughly upset with me, my income statements aren’t anything to be particularly proud of, and I’m standing in the middle of nowhere with nothing but open space all around me, I’m peaking both personally and career-wise.
I can see the sky.
I can make my own roads.
I can dream outside my boundaries.
No one said it was easy, but no one said it was impossible either.
So for once, I won’t label myself a fraud or come down too hard on myself. I’ll use this downtime to regroup by having those food binges, passing out in front of the TV and going on pointless shopping sprees without feeling guilty. Because let’s face it, shopping never gets old.