Not getting distracted from your writing is important. So is not getting stressed out by obligations so that you can’t write. This blog isn’t getting me people to talk to – which is why I started it – and it’s crushing my ability to produce my actual stories, so from now on it’ll be an if I feel like it/have news production schedule.
Project Status 4 – Folding and Fury
I’ve been trying to get a writers group working for a few months. Last month I began doing a content edit/critique for the only regular apart from myself. At the same time he agreed to do a light punctuation edit on my nearly ready to publish characterisation advice book. Since then I’ve read almost as many pages of his work as there are of my work, always getting his chapters back to him promptly, while he has only done seven pages of my work and has – since giving me those seven pages – been utterly silent and non-responsive on the subject of my work since. Nevertheless, he always responds near immediately to the return of his own work and talks about taking the edits in right away, so he clearly has the time.
I’m feeling very used right now.
I keep telling myself that maybe he forgot (but I’ve referred to it in emails about his work, so he’d have to be deliberately not acknowledging those bits) or that he’s busy (but not too busy for eighty something pages of his own work, taking in the critiques, and – if he told accurately – rewriting parts of his chapters) or that maybe he hates it and thinks he’s being nice by not saying anything (which is a break of agreement, unintentionally cruel, and unlikely because he seems like the sort of person who would – carefully – say something or at least lie to get out of it). You’d think that after all the times I had my helpful nature abused by other students in Uni I would be used to this sort of shit happening, but apparently not because I still got blindsided by it and it still hurts. I’m furious with him for the radio silence. I’m furious with him because, whether he meant to or not, I got used. I’m furious with myself for not seeing it coming. Mostly, though, I’m scared. If I can’t get this situation sorted, then my writers group will fall apart before it ever truly got to form and I will be, once again, without anyone to interact with. Blathering here is all well and good, I suppose, but with no one ever responding to me here and the rest of the world treating me as non-existent unless they want something out of me (a content critique, incidentally, is a service that can be a profession and is often paid for when friends don’t do it for each other)…
I’m furious. I’m feeling used. I’m tired. I’m tired of being used, of being angry, and of being friendless. I’m tired of putting in so much effort and getting nothing back. I’m tired of trying to build things, like this blog and the writers group, only to be walked over again and otherwise ignored – of trying so hard and watching everything fall apart anyway. I’m tired of being a failure.
I’m tired of not being able to make myself give up. I’m tired of knowing when to fold ‘em but not doing it because part of me is still too stubbornly optimistic to admit that it’s pointless. I’m tired of being torn between the remains of my self-worth wanting bloody revenge on those who wrong me and the exhaustion of experience telling me that if I could just give up that last kernel of self-esteem I could give up completely, instead of repeatedly finding myself in these situations and being trapped – unable to figure out how to fix it and bitter that I’m too damn stubborn to be capable of giving up.
Fuck it, I’ll publish it anyway – without waiting for him to bother to do his edit.