words and bills

My writing workshop has become disappointing to me. No negative feedback is allowed, and I think that is the reason. I like getting my work critiqued; it seems more genuine than a continuous stream of “that was great” and “you narrate so well” and the like. But believe me, I’m not getting ANY of that continuous stream. No, people tend to say things like “that was interesting” or “quite vivid” and I shouldn’t be disgruntled but I am. I don’t want to be The Token Weird Writer. I want to fit in, and do good work. Instead I stick out and I’m producing shit.

Plus, it’s a free-for-all when it comes to feedback time, and I have such issues about interrupting or being interrupted that I usually end up saying nothing at all, which I’m sure endears me to the group not one bit. They probably think I’m writing something for myself when I’m in fact taking notes I never end up saying out loud.

So I spent all of this month’s fun money on a workshop I dread attending. The rest of my finances are in dismal shape due to credit card debt I’m still carrying from the start-up fiasco of four years ago. I can’t afford to pay it all off, and my whittling away at it doesn’t seem to make much of a difference. I’m even starting to feel like taking public transportation to and from work is an unnecessary luxury since I’m already paying so much for my car and insurance.

The reality of my workshop situation is that I took a risk by getting my hopes up for it, and I’m going to stick with it for the remaining six weeks. The reality of my financial situation is that I have to get a part-time job, and I can’t go to grad school in the fall or spend money on anything frivolous (books, music, clothing, dinners or movies) until I have my credit cards paid off. I’ve already cancelled my account on The Well and my wi-fi service, and will look into selling some possessions, including my G4 desktop.

I wish I could be a good sport about all this, but when my friends can afford things like mortgages and massages and mobile phones without a second thought, I get so fucking depressed. And I can’t even write well enough to soothe myself.

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.