From what I have gathered from my experiences, inspiration can be fleeting. We can feel so moved by something, so enthused by an idea, and then a few days later…we lose our steam. Why is that? Is it laziness? Are we just victims of an apathetic generation? Or are we afraid to act upon our strong feelings due to the risk of failure? I would like to side with the latter, since I do not consider myself a sloth or a victim void of self-determination. There are other reasons, but I am offering a few and exploring one: Fear.
This past week I had the great fortune of unearthing a sort of revelation if you will. I had been asking the good unicorns and leprechauns up there for a sign down here, and I think I got what I asked for. Its a big deal, and its not. I just found the start to ‘my story’. There is a novel I have been itching to write and its beginning was immensely hard to find. Somehow it found me. I started tapping at the old computer right away. But as soon as I took a little break on the weekend, it flew from underneath me and the roar my engine once had seems like a shitty purr now. I am left staring at those sexy first two pages wondering where the hell do I go from here.
I’ll tell you one thing, I have been reading the quote on my cork board from Anthony Burgess over and over again. He was an occasional novelist diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumour and told that he had only a year to live. His intention was to write as many novels before the year was out in way of providing his wife with a line of posthumous royalties.
“The practice of a profession entails discipline, which for me meant the production of two thousand words of fair copy every day, weekends included. I discovered that, if I started early enough, I could complete the day’s stint before the pubs opened. Or, if I could not, there was an elated period of the night after closing time, with the neighbours banging on the walls to protest at the industrious clacking. Two thousand words a day means a yearly total of 730,000. Step up the rate and, without undue effort, you can reach a million. This ought to mean ten novels of 100,000 words each. The quantitative approach to writing is not, naturally, to be approved. And because of hangovers, marital quarrels, creative deadness induced by the weather, shopping trips, summonses to meet state officials, and sheer torpid gloom, I was not able to achieve more than five and a half novels of very moderate size in that pseudoterminal year. Still, it was very nearly E.M. Forster’s whole long life’s output.” – Anthony Burgess 1917-1993
That ridiculously astonishing year he wrote ‘A Clockwork Orange’ among other masterpieces. Luckily he was misdiagnosed and lived another thirty three years. Nevertheless, that is a surreal accomplishment to follow or even swallow. So as I seep frustration I begin to understand its origin. The hesitation to act upon something of great personal significance (especially when I know I have the time to hesitate, unlike Burgess) is relative to the extent of your fear to execute it poorly. I know I am afraid to mess this up. I have been hoping and planning for the ingredients to write my first novel and now that I finally see them appear I feel shy to embody my initial conviction.
There is just something so beautiful about what I have in my head, that I fear may get lost in translation. I compare it to Karl Marx and his notions of socialism with the less than ideal realization of communism. I am not communist, and even if I was, that still doesn’t help me right now. Never committing my thoughts to paper or the public keeps them perfect and untouchable. I can think the world of myself and my abilities. I can also think the sky is purple, that dogs are humans and that rocks are alien feces. Though until an ability is proven it does not exist. I am not a writer unless I write. So at the very least I am writing this. And I will keep writing this, while I try writing that.
I am quite certain that several of my friends will tell me to ‘just start writing and that third page will come’. This sounds quite logical in fact. I think I will do just that.
giselleandbeyond 
I can completely understand, in fact I too fell victim to a paralyzing fear while trying to attain my biggest dreams. (creating an awesome dinner theatre) I also decided to take a huge leap and go for it! It was a huge disaster myself and investors lost buckets of money. However after it was all done, when I should have been hanging my head in shame, I felt a sense of pride in accomplishment. I set out to do something and it was done. The guests had an awesome time, it was fun, and most importantly I learned so much. So for next time I have knowledge that could have only been gained through my experience. My advice to you is to go ahead and write even if you make a mess of your first book, you will at least have all the criticisms and information to make a breath-taking second book. “you win some, you learn some.” – Jason Maraz
Wow.. I love that you still keep that ambition of a dinner theatre! I’ve known that for as long as I have known you, and hearing you manage such a big undertaking so early in your life is inspiring. I am proud of you Vanessa! And your advice is fantastic; I will most certainly take it. Thank you for all your love and support. I really really appreciate it!