So today I went to a bookstore and spent quite a while just browsing through the vast selection of magazines and books I've never even heard of. Specifically, I went there to pick up the latest issue of Kitchen Sink because a letter that I wrote to Kaya Oakes about an article she wrote in the last issue was being published. Anytime you can go to a major bookstore and purchase something that has your name attached to it, written by you, is quite a thrill. Minor victories to be sure.
But standing among those racks and racks of literature it dawned on me. I am my own worst enemy when it comes to my writing. Those of you who know me know that I dream of someday making a career of my writing. It takes a lot of hard work and motivation to attain that dream, but it is attainable. I think that one of the major problems I have as a writer is that I make the whole process of writing more complicated than it has to be. I'm always going out to buy books and magazines on making me a better writer and I read them and then I get frustrated because they make the whole thing seem like some sort of mystical journey that I'm too much of a cynic to believe in. All I need to do is just write. That's all. I don't need all this peripheral crap and all this time spent buying more and more peripheral crap bogging me down. I mean, for fuck's sake, is buying an expensive pen and thick stock paper going to somehow transform me into Henry Miller? No. So why the fuck do I do it? And believe me, I have good ideas in my head for written works, but they're only in my head because I'm too busy wasting my time to get them down on the paper.
I am my own worst enemy.
Next time any of you see me in a bookstore buying books on writing practices or in an office supply megastore or some sort wasting more money and time on selecting just the right pen and expensive paper please do me a favor and kick me in the ass. I sorely need it.