Full Blown Panic Attack
Thoughts, Movie Reviews, Book Reviews, Interviews
I got a microphone and Dragon Naturally Speaking so that I can attempt to start writing in dictation, but I think this is going to be a bumpy ride. I’m using it right now, but the learning curve is steep. I do plan on continuing to use it, especially when I’m doing my blogs, until I get good enough at it that I could write my novels this way. I do think that it will be easier to get more words on the page each day by speaking them.
If anyone has any advice about dictation, please don’t hesitate to share it with me.
If I write this book and it turns out to be a giant pile of shit, I’m not entirely sure that I will recover from that. It is so easy to say that I would just write the next one and no worries, but I know myself, and I know that that isn’t how it will happen. I would spiral down into the pit of self-loathing, and who knows if I would ever attempt to write another book again. Then, I would just have to look at Lindsay and say, “I fucked up. I guess now I go back to working in an office until it kills me.”
Yesterday, I had absolutely no reason to hate on anything, but I hated everything. I got a new microphone in the mail and that gave me no joy. I went to Bed Bath and Beyond, which usually makes me feel wonderful since that is one of my favorite stores, but all I felt was trapped. I wasn’t trapped – I know that – I was spending quality time with my son who was making me laugh, but in my head, felt like there was nowhere to go. Sometimes I think that I need so much time alone because when I’m by myself I don’t actually regard myself at all. I am just a presence in limbo, and that is serene. It is when I’m around others that I have to deal with myself, and that is such a hard thing to explain to people. Especially the people you love that you just got mad at for no reason.
I’ve been doing a lot of reading about blogging recently, and the thing that they always say is to not write a bunch of personal whiny shit – so, I guess I fucked that up to. This is a blog about horror related things, or about writing, and instead you got a diatribe of nonsense that you can’t use and probably didn’t want to hear.
I blame the dictation.
I finally finished the first draft of Behind the Red Curtain, and I don’t really know how to feel. As soon as I typed the last words, I got depressed, and still haven’t recovered from that. I feel more pressure with this book than the first, mostly due to it being real now. The first time was an accomplishment, now it’s my job. If I don’t impress, will I have to fire myself?
I really don’t have a clue if the story is any good. I am sending it out to alpha readers, so I guess I’ll get some good feedback, but right now it’s a complete and total mystery. There are definitely some strong elements in there, but whether they come together as a whole – who knows.
I want to feel that elation again. The bright glow of accomplishment that makes me walk on my toes, but instead I feel a sense of dread. Impending doom. Like at any moment, I am going to find out that I am a hack. Lindsay is great obviously, and she seems to like it, but what about the rest of the world – or the itsy bitsy piece that I claim?
I doubt this feeling is going to subside until I get some feedback, which means I’ll have a couple more weeks of it. On top of that, I am going to have to tell someone who was very nicely coming up with cover designs for me, that I am going to go with my own. I hate telling people that all the work they did for my benefit was for nothing. Fucking guilt man.
My IndieGoGo campaign finished up, and people are generous, beautiful, and wonderful. When the funds come in, I have a whole plan of marketing and such to execute. I will also be completely overhauling this website. It’s gonna be puuurty.
I’m out. Things to do. Stay gold pony boy.
But, there is plenty of excitement. I don’t anticipate that the re-write of Behind the Red Curtain will take too terribly long – which probably means it will be a death spiral of sadness that lasts a year. It will be something special to see another book alongside Strawberries on the shelf. Proof that I can do this shit a second time. Because that is the last real test, right? If I can write a second, there is no reason why I can’t write a 10th.
Anyway, they didn’t acknowledge Father’s Day with me, and that stings. They are little kids who don’t even really comprehend the day, but still. I was hoping for a little something. Just a word or two. Don’t get me wrong, I know they love me and they show it often, but this was the first time I was a father on the day for fathers. I am sure that all of this would thrill their biological father, as he has recently gone on a tirade about how it came to his attention that they call me Dad. Seriously, the man is ridiculous, and far more ignorant to things than he realizes.
On top of all that, I ended up getting in a fight with my own father. So yeah, Sunday sucked.
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