Three Old Enemies

So, I haven't used this blog for awhile, but I decided to use it as I map a creative journey I'm taking. I've wanted a copy of Julia Cameron's 'The Artist's Way' for some time now and I finally found myself a copy. I'm at the end of the first chapter and I'm taking her challenges quite seriously. The first one I decided to tackle was to list three old enemies of my creative self- worth.

1. My Mother-in-Law

Anytime my novel writing comes up in conversation or otherwise, she shoves her head into the novel she's reading with such an active effort that I can't help but feel snubbed. There's a couple reasons this bugs me. The first one is that I make a palpable effort to listen to her when she discusses her creative endeavors (sewing, choir direction), when I am not the least bit interested in either of those things. The second reason I'm annoyed is that the book she's reading is usually a drug store romance novel and even if I'm no literary giant - I can at least give those wenches a run for their money. Sheesh!

The thing that hurt me the most was when my father-in-law read one of my novels. He gave me some criticism, and it was absolutely nothing I couldn't take. He's an English teacher and his opinion has a lot of weight with me. After she told me that he had gone easy on me and proceeded to lecture me about novel writing like I was 13 again starting my very first book. I was working on my 15th book then and felt like I had been made into a complete fool for believing that I had actually made progress. I was a baby and ...

I realized that I would never be anything else to her no matter who I was able to impress.

So, I asked her if I could talk to my father-in-law. I wanted to hear what he really thought instead of listening to her garbled nonsense (it wasn't like she even read the book), and she wouldn't let me talk to him.

2. My Mother

My mother gave up on most of her creative endeavors when she became a mom. She was a painter and had a university professor tell her that she would never be good enough to make a living, even though she had already sold a collection of paintings and everything she'd ever sculpted. That man squashed her dream of being an artist, probably because his dream had been squashed too and then my mother continues the cycle by discouraging me.

Actually, I've fought pretty hard for my writing. I have printed whole novels for her to read and short stories if the novels are too long and she doesn't read them. I don't print them anymore. She's not allowed to read my writing. And she's proud of me now, but only because I have earned an audience.

Here's what my mother's discouragement tastes like:

- Good writers read.
- Are you really going to cut bangs?
- This is the time you should be spending with your children.

This last one really fries me. It bothers me because I know she didn't spend her time doting on me when I was a preschooler. I spent most of my time playing with the neighbourhood kids while she made buns. Like her, I cannot be their playmate 24/7. It's unhealthy for both of us. The last thing is that I don't think she realizes that I am disappointed in her for giving up painting. I would have liked to grow up watching her paint.

3. Me

I'm terrible. I can't even list all the times I've degraded myself and stood ashamed of my work.

- It's not intelligent.
- It's trashy.
- It's boring.

No one can rip me to shreds like I can. The difference is that I'm much better at forgiving myself. That's not terribly normal. Usually, we forgive others faster than ourselves. I just have always figured that no one will make a fuss of me except myself. I love myself enough to throw myself a party and take myself out to the firing squad - sometimes in the same day. The trick is knowing yourself enough to know when either of those actions is appropriate.