People forget that with writers, our minds are always buzzing. We are always thinking, feeling, doing, and creating on the inside. Things I might feel today might be different 72 hours from now. Ideas that seem awesome a week ago might seem like poop days later. With this writer, I often press out my feelings in poetry. Some of them are pretty much concrete–like my feelings on love, failure, and trying to get over humps of depression and sadness. Others, like thoughts about exes can sometimes be concrete, but for the most part are passing fancy. That’s what happened when I wrote about ol’ curly top in a poem before my rant about the missing PSP and his fakeness.
I put two and two together, trying to understand his last email, and of course he checked out my Twitter that time before. Once I realized this, I cringed. Oh, you perfect writing moron how wishy washy and crazy you look right now, kicking his name in the mud in one poem, then talking about dialing him up for a booty call before! UGH! What is wrong with you?! I was upset about Jeff when I wrote that poem. Angry that I’d burnt bridges, never being able to keep one up long enough “just in case” with “no strings attached” so that if I were between relationships, I might “have something”.
Then, I thought about it. Hours after I wrote that poem, I realized with him in particular, that’s not what I’d ever want because I always ended up hurt and angry. I decided not to delete the poetry, but I deleted the feelings. Remember, this was the guy who snubbed me and had an excuse for it every time. In the defensive email I barely read, I could feel the resentment for my speaking my mind.
That’s another great problem with being a writer–speaking your mind. OH GOD. Speaking your mind. Being too honest, not being honest enough, revealing things….it gets messy. It was messy when my dad read my suicidal sadness in high school. It was messy when exes read livejournals and xangas and tumblrs. It was messy when phantom folk went to womansavers. It’s messy when anyone reads what you write and takes the wrong or negative idea from the work–especially when they’ve never experienced what you’re going through.
These are the things that often make me want to stop writing. Along with that book I keep crying about, it’s the worst feeling in the world. Yet, it also fuels me to want to write more. Okay, so, my presence isn’t as automatic as some writers and poets, but…somebody’s feeling something from my work. Somebody’s got thoughts they feel compelled to email to me. Something is happening and I’m having feelings of my own.
Timing will always be crappy for one reason or another, considering the fact that people who are closest to you (or have been close to you) have a lot more to say once they find out something they hadn’t realized in the first place. They find out you’re not that great of a person. They find out you’ve got a dark and sour side. They find out you’re a twisted pervert who masquerades as a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream by day. They find out….you’re horribly human, and not some perfect robot here to please them or anyone else all the time.
Amidst the drama, responses, and hard feelings, they come to find you are a writer with a mind that is on fire. They are either able to be cool with it or not. They’re either going to question it and resent it, or go with the flow. They’ll all wonder this–“am I in this piece she’s/he’s talking about?”