inquiries into inadequacy

 I am going to meditate on my failings as a writer… not to be neurotic or to perform being humble, no, instead I choose honesty.

I share things before they are finished is my no 1 problem or I let them gestate till they sour in my mind (This would be my no 2 problem). I put off sharing personal projects until I abandon them and then share the scraps just to free myself of the bile.

My lack of ability to spell or formal education in any kind of grammar is one of the reasons I am trying so hard to find a way to tell my stories in other media than prose fiction. I love written language but I struggle with how do I express the romance of an impotent poet. Of being a writer constantly being showed my own lack of gift with language.

I have written stories where a man is raped to be nothing but dominated. There is all kind of problematic sex in my writing for two reasons the first is that sex is an expression of neurosis in its purist form and the second is that Alan Moore said once that the hardest thing to write is pornography because the physical reaction removes you from the aesthetic. It creates a confrontation with the aesthetic and this war is its own language of poetry.

My main failings as a writer are confronting greatness and being found wanting. Knowledge brings pain and you cannot relinquish it. 

I think I will try to write a novel on the next few days or possibly refine my Aziel Bartholomew story into a full length novel. I have had the story on my mind for years. Trying to develop it into an expression that aesthetically satisfying if only to me.

I have not accompliced what I set out to do.  I hunger to write my stories to share my nightmares to express the beauty of the tragic… and the tragic is in the inadequacy of a compulsion to document a life.

I know if I keep trying I can say what I need to say. I can keeping moving till I don’t. I can keep trying till I fail or succeed. The outcome is not the journey and the process is the result.