As I base my writing for this blog on emotional authenticity for the first time in a long time (as I have done in this previous post), I hope to discuss what happened to me in 2013 as a mechanism to get out of my own damaged, self-victimizing headspace and transition into a healthier place so I can finally create rather than agonize. The mind does not lend itself to easy understanding and I often question my actions, including why I chose to start my Women in Genre month in April.
In all honesty, I realized how tight my schedule would be between March and May. A new three-month project at work awaited along with a packed program at university resulting in finals and a student competition I had hand in organizing. Instinctually, I knew I needed a distraction, rooted in the SFF community. Something positive. What I thought I needed was to build something and took to a very personal place to tell stories about the women in the community who have shaped me as a reader and writer.
A good idea I thought and it worked for a spell. I drew on strength from the stories I shared, until
I ran out of hours, sleep couldn’t cut it anymore and headaches dulled any other sensation I’d be able to express. This has happened before. I have a long history with burnouts, taking on work in unreasonable quantity that requires four hours of sleep and tireless fingers. Requirements I can’t physically meet.
Stress and exhaustion caught up with me. The positive place I drew my stories from felt mangled and lost. Writing came harder and harder, while sentiments bled into each other. Something that defeated the whole purpose behind the project. Hence why posts were delayed, until finals rolled in and eventually ceased. I have looked back at the project in May, June, July and September, but I could still feel anxiety looking back. It’s a small pit of doom whenever I remember April and I can’t say I will return to this particular project.
I will, however, find a way to honour the women in SFF. That much is certain.
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