What Cures Monday Morning Blues?

Tuesdays.

So this is how it went --> Monday, 7:something in the morning she asked:

"what do you expect to do with that?"

A question thrown at me in regards to my major and my degree and the answer that I always give is this:

"Hopefully get published."

Then she threw this at me:

"That's it? You do know that only 10% of writers can live off of their work right?"

BAM. Slap in the face. A statistic. She hit me with a statistic. (ouch.) It was actually in the way she said it that unbalanced me. It was like she was saying, "You really expect to be that good? What are you retarded?" and it was in that moment that I faltered from my once steady pace into a "dragging-my-feet" kind of movement.

It hurt. It was unsettling and brought to surface all of the feelings of inadequacy that I've been successful in keeping to myself. I've always known how ridiculous I sound when I tell people all of the things I want to do with my life. People, honestly, look at me and raise their brow to my optimism before ultimately brushing me aside. I can see it in their faces. I know what they are all thinking. "If you think you can do it, go ahead and try."

See, that's not really a vote of confidence people, it's merely a nice way of saying, "You're most likely going to fail epically, but, hey, at least you tried, right?"

So from that moment in the morning I spiraled down into this seemingly never-ending hole of doubt over everything I've ever written or dreamed. And began to ask myself, "If this doesn't work out...what else is there?"

The truth: I don't think there is anything else. Anything else I would really want to do anyway. This has always been everything and at the root of it all, it's where everything I am stems from. So, in short, I had an intense case of writer's block because of all this doubt and was near-close to blindness.

blah.

But thankfully...Monday evening ended and so began Tuesday. Glorious Glorious Tuesday, making my way through French into English 318: Introduction to Fiction Writing.

Now, when I stepped into the class, her voice resonated within my heart, "You do know that only 10% of writers can live off of their work right?" And I felt my stomach drop as our workshop began. But after reading my piece,

(a rather riveting tale of my monotonous routine at work.)

My teacher smiled at me and nodded, "Very well written and with a lot of great stuff in there."

Okay, call me easily amused, but when a published Author compliments you, you take it. And suddenly the whole world seemed to be smiling again. No matter what she may have said, I know I'm a good writer and other people know I'm a good writer, so...why doubt it? The only one who is allowed to diminish my dreams and my aspirations is MYself. And she can keep her statistics.

hah. want to know what else I learned?

In my high school English classes were always taught that statistics can strengthen an argument, but now-a-days, especially in my line of work, a statistic, though they can sometimes get the point across, can also come off as dry. Impersonal. A generalization.

I learned that a character should never be a generalization and you have to add your own twist to them as people or else no one will read about them. No one wants to read about BORING people.

Therefore, I spit on that statistic. I refuse to be a generalization.