A third of the way through Nanowrimo, and I wish I could do this every month: just make shit up without worrying where it's going, or if it's any good; without worrying about anything except that I write at least two and a half pages a day, every day, weekends and holidays included. I was writing in my notebook earlier today, and I wrote, I love what I'm working on, and I immediately wanted to take it back, because I was afraid that if I let myself feel good about my work, it would immediately crumble and turn to shit in my hands.
I'm dismayed that this is my first reaction to having a positive thought about my work: Don't do that. Don't feel good about your writing, and if you do, for god's sake don't admit it. Which is so counterproductive -- the reality is that thinking "I love what I'm working on" is a positive thing, something I should be trying to say to myself more often and not less.
I think I'm trying to protect myself from disappointment. But I don't think I can protect myself from disappointment, because disappointment is a human emotion. Even when I know disappointment is coming, even when I've predicted nothing but failure in my head for the previous two weeks, it's still disappointing. It turns out that purposely thinking negative thoughts doesn't protect me from anything.
Or does it? I used to think that constantly tearing myself down at least prevented me from becoming a smug, complacent asshole. So instead I was a very smug, uncomplacent asshole -- smug because I thought that at least I was smart enough to hate myself before others could hate me, an asshole to others because I hated myself.
Frankly, I'd rather just be smug and complacent. To the tune of two and a half pages a day.