what do I know

I went to listen to Elizabeth Hay and Miriam Toews at a Writers Fest event last night. They make a good team on stage. They told stories about how their current novels came into being. They each read from the beginnings of their novels, and then answered questions. Oh, and they made us laugh, which I'd been forgetting to do lately.

At these sorts of events, the questions often range around How do you do it? and Where do you get your ideas? How autobiographical is it? (I guess when people write memoir, we should start asking how fictional is it?)

Apparently it's not easy to drag a completed novel out of yourself. Both women are funny, which makes for an entertaining evening. They also seem remarkably human, which is encouraging for an aspiring, currently blocked, novelist.

I've had one of those periods where I doubt myself constantly. Can't make decisions (well, I did when I voted, but I'm still questioning my decision). Start things but don't finish them. I've gotten caught up in worry about my future (delayed birthday effect?). I'm certain I've sorely offended several people. I remember a whole bunch of incidents where I've been very much a not-nice girl. These stretch back over years, and my memories are probably fiction.

Anxiety is a condition that soaks my family, so I'm not alone in the circular thoughts and self doubts.

The odd thing is that, even when I'm in the midst of it, I know that it's not reality based. I mean, there's something going on that's triggered it, and I might indeed have said the wrong thing here and there, but my reaction is always way over and beyond. I'm not really that significant. Basically, I recognize that I'm a bit of a nutcase.

Alcohol used to defuse the feeling, temporarily, but I've stopped using the stuff except for extremely rare occasions. Because of course alcohol opens up it's own can of worms, if you're susceptible, which I think I am. Come to think of it, alcohol was always only temporary, because I'd wake up next day remembering whatever I'd done, and then add in embarrassment and repentance. Circular thoughts and self doubt can easily pick up steam in a hangover.

It's kind of like the gallbladder attacks I used to get (that was reality, so I got to cut it out). They would, interestingly, start in about the same location as my anxiety does, and pretty much take over for a period of time. Sometime rolling on the floor helped, sometimes pacing. Long walks were actually helpful. That works with anxiety too, rolling on the floor less so. But after a time the attack would pass. But I can't surgically cut out the anxiety, because, though it feels like its situated in my stomach, it's actually emanating from my brain. On other days I feel like a very worthwhile person, and I never make mistakes. Always right. Peaks and valleys.

I'm somewhere in between today, which is the best place. Normal, eh? I'll be able to get some things done. I started reading a book called The War of Art: break through the blocks and win your inner creative battles. Creative battles aren't just the big projects, but all the little ones, so that at the end of each day, you go to bed thinking/feeling you are on the right path. I managed that yesterday, oddly enough, even though the day began with the roiling in my gut. Laughing before bed, maybe that's the trick.