whining about writing

i haven't been writing much fiction lately. these last six weeks or so i've prioritized sleeping in the mornings. i'd rather get up between 6 and 6:30 than between 4:30 and 5. weird? and i'm wondering if this says something significant about my commitment to this craft. i mean, duh, it obviously does. were i dedicated to becoming an accomplished writer, i would get up earlier and stay up later and write and write and write. i might even choose to work part-time instead of full-time in order to devote more hours to fictivizing - and that idea certainly appeals, because in general i'm averse to working a job. but i don't want to relinquish my 40-hour paycheck, do i?

so what is at issue here is my level of commitment. i like writing. i like thinking of myself as a writer. only a small number of people have read my stories, but most of them have told me that i'm a good writer. sometimes i like what i write. i think i have it in me to be a good writer.

i tend to feel better about myself when i'm actively working on a writing project. i love holding in my hands the pages of something i've written. i love the physicality of the product, the feel of the paper, the shadows and shapes of the paragraphs on the page.

i don't know if i'll ever have much of an audience. will i ever be published? well, not at the rate i'm going - i haven't even submitted anything for publication in years. nothing ever feels quite finished, or good enough. though i don't think i'm a good judge of my own writing. the people who have read my stuff are family and friends, so can their praise be taken objectively?

and how much does being published matter? is being published the point? it's a mark of success, of course, and the idea of making money from writing is incredible. but that's not the reason i write. so then - why do i write? why do i care? do i feel i have something to say?

i guess the answer to that is: well, not really, i'm afraid. not so much. at least i don't think about it in those terms. it's not as if i have an agenda or a soapbox, or a desire to educate. all i can say is, i see characters in my head, i don't know why, and i want to describe them. there are ideas i want to explore for myself. do i believe truths dwelling in my subconscious will rise and emerge and teach me things?

sometimes i think my nature is too flighty. i don't think i'm ready to write a novel, though i love the idea of immersing myself in such a momentous project. mostly these days i'm thinking about short stories. there's nothing wrong with that. but then from time to time i feel i'd rather be a poet again, though the last time i wrote a poem i felt halfway good about, it was 1992.

a poem appeals because i could get a draft out in an afternoon. there's also a sense of freedom with poetry. the boundaries are hazier, if they exist at all. also, as i have said, novels appeal because of the sense of losing myself in something huge. these are opposite pulls. are short stories the happy medium? well - i don't really find them satisfying. (so maybe there is something wrong.) i'd rather be at one of the poles, but i don't know which one. i fluctuate, and that makes it hard to be productive. so that's another issue.

what i am learning from the writing of these paragraphs here is that i'd rather be writing. i need to tighten up. kara spends some time in the evenings with her books, so perhaps i could be an evening writer rather than (or as well as) a morning writer, if mornings are more for sleep. or i should just kick myself in the ass, set an alarm, get up before dawn, and write.

right now i have an idea for a story turning around in my head, and if i don't tend to it, it will die. i have a character, a young man, and a situation, a murder, and i don't know what will happen. i want to find out.