Monkey Diaries Archive

There are plenty of times in which I feel as though the only limits to what I can accomplish rest within the confines of my imagination. I know that I am quite capable of composing the next GREAT AMERICAN Novel or writing an award-winning screenplay that is both entertaining and critically lauded. Hell, my laptop is chock full of pieces that I have written, that I am not only proud of but believe are commercially viable. In addition, my laptop also houses things that are better left collecting virtual dust on my hard drive. Like most writers, I am my own worst critic. I write things that make other people take notice but I rarely ever know if they are just saying these things because they know me or if they truly find what I have created to be worthy of praise. In college, I wrote an industrial film (the precursor to an infomercial) about a home for wayward teens. It won a small award for excellence but it was never used because the client went bankrupt and couldn't afford the fee's to run it. Eventually, they decided to burn it to video as an in-house marketing piece. I didn't even get a copy but I know it's out there. The real tragedy, if one is to call it that, is that my lack of self confidence is professionally crippling. I waffle between thinking I'm a fucking creative genius to thinking I'm a hack. What's more, I don't know whose opinions I can trust. I've never really pushed myself professionally and hover just somewhere inside a constant state of mediocrity. It isn't the best situation to be in... In fact, it is one that has me currently fighting an uphill battle to prove I am of value to the organization I work for. It is really unfortunate since I love the company I work for but have issues with some of the directives that are placed on me. I used to think that I didn't have an ego about my writing but now I'm realizing that I do. One that can prevent me from seeing things fairly and accurately. Not everyone can appreciate what I write. Just as it takes a certain personality to appreciate a Britney Spears album, it takes a certain personality to find my writing worth the energy expended to read it. Different strokes for different folks, I guess. I guess the real trick for anyone attempting to seek out a creative outlet is to forget what you know, let go of your fear and trust your heart, and your fingers will follow. It's a tough row to hoe if you know what I mean. You have to look at things objectively and without prior conceit. I struggle with this daily. Am I talented? I couldn't tell you with absolute certainty. What I do know is that I enjoy writing (and taking photographs like the ones in this post) more than just about anything I do with my clothes on. The question is, is it worthy. Does it move people? Are they transported for even the briefest moment to a place they've never been? I'd like to believe that I have the power to do that but truth be told, I can't worry about it. I can only push myself to share truth as I see it. That's really what creative outlets are for... sharing the truth as seen by the individual artist. One of my favorite contemporary writers, Kingsley Amis, once said, "If you can't annoy somebody, there's little point in writing." I love that line. There is nothing more damaging to the psyche of a writer than complete indifference. A negative review pales in comparison to someone who couldn't be bothered to offer anything critical at all. If you don't know much about Kingsley Amis, he was known as one of the "angry young men" in the 1950s, though he denied the affiliation, who made mockery a noble pasttime. The reason I like Amis is because, like me, he values honesty, civility, and lack of pretense. My writing is oftentimes critiqued as being very Amis-like, an association I don't mind at all. Of course, depending on my current state of mind, I can write like just about any of my favorite authors from Poe to Sedaris. Lately though, and just very lately, I've started finding my own voice. One that isn't like any of the author's I'm fond of. And truthfully, I don't know why it's taken me so long to find it. Perhaps it has to do with whom I spend my time with. Inspiration, like any good muse, comes in many forms. Happiness apparently suits me.