The Fear of Making
Preface: This is a stream of thought kind of post, and a bit of a rant even though that was not my intention. Readers beware.
Why do I fear to make? Putting a line on a page fills me with apprehension. To put words on the screen comes like tar, kicking and holding onto the threshold and leaving as soon as they arrive. Is it because I am spoiled? Days of easy fun and conditioning myself to only try when it's expected; after all, writing is supposed to be fun. Why should I force myself?
Or maybe it's because I do not want to see the result. To pour my thoughts onto the page and see that they are boring and trite. To face the reality that I am not cut out for this, body and mind too weak and unfit. Read too little, talked too little, thought too little. And the damned eyes. It is better to remain dreaming, finding excuses to remain in the frustrated midpoint. Write, especially when it's inconvenient.
I once read a letter by a modern Greek writer. He talked about having to write in foreign languages, for there was no audience or future for him in Greece. I empathize with that, both on a literal level as an immigrant, but also in a way that I feel I am always speaking a second language, where there is a filter over my thoughts. Some days I get a glimpse into that true language, where my mind is unclouded and my hand confident.
I feel if I was born at a different time or a different place I might have been able to grasp it. I flourish when I am seen and spoken to and can share my thoughts with people that also care about *reality* and being here and speaking and sharing thoughts and the moment, and reaching into it and putting it on paper. I can't find this, and I wonder if this still even exists. Or maybe I fear finding it, and realizing I am not up to par to join. I just wish people cared more.
Maybe if I had someone look at me and give me confidence and encouragement, I might have turned out different.
Art is a craft, or rather art is craft. It takes commitment, and repetition over and over to make something worthwhile. But most of all it takes unbroken confidence to justify the effort. What does this all mean? I'll be trying to commit time to writing, to force myself to face the empty page. I also want to do some reading on the act of making itself. It remains to see how that will go.