No matter how I look at it, it feels like my writing is doubly sure never to get off the ground. Even for free, I can’t get people to read it. I don’t think it’s just because my writing style sucks–though I think that’s part of it, too–I think it’s also that what I write is just something that no one wants to read.
Even in my academic writing, I feel like that’s the case. All I could think regarding my presentation in class about my thesis-to-be is that no one thought it was worth writing, like I was wasting their time in making them listen to it, and wasting my time in writing it, and everything. I mean, I guess it’s not really world-shattering, studying the way myths are re-shaped by the times that they pass through, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong to study it, surely. Some of the others had some pretty vague and/or unimportant topics, too.
It doesn’t help that as I read these various books for my research that I can see the people who wrote them are infinitely more intelligent than I am. I’ll never be able to write anything so deep and insightful. I’ll never be able to write fiction that anyone wants to read. So where does that leave me?
I’m unemployable, so I can’t just get a job and work for a living. No one would ever hire someone who’s never had a job. But if I can’t write fiction and I can’t enter academia, and I can’t get a job, then what do I do with myself? What justification do I have to exist?
If I were younger, pretty and thin, I could say “screw being useful, I’ll just get married and churn out babies and at least keep the species alive” but there’s not a human being on this planet who’d ever want to marry me, and I don’t have the financial, emotional or mental stability to raise a child on my own.
If my writing style was more acceptable–if I was even capable of writing descriptions–I would try to churn out some fiction that people would want to read, even if it was crap. After all, there are certain genres that are popular, right? If I could write in a style that people would be willing to read, I could try to grind out some of that “tween-girl porn” that’s popular right now, but…well, actually, first I’d have to be able to put up with reading some of it to know it’s like.
And watching “Pyramids of Mars” while I’m already in a funk isn’t really helping. It’s not exactly the most cheerful story out there. (But Barnes and Noble was having a half-off sale on BBC DVDs!)
It also doesn’t help that I still have 34 pages left in the book I told myself I was going to finish reading today. Then tomorrow I’m going to tackle the last of the new library books, and if it turns out to useful to–wait, wasn’t Set the uncle of Horus, not his brother? And Sutek is Set, so…but actually, I think I’ve seen something lately that called Set the brother of Horus, rather than the brother of Osiris, so maybe it’s one of those multiple versions things.
Well, digression aside, like I was saying, after the one I’ve spent today reading, I have one more library book left (plus a book about Amazons that I bought a while back, which should prove useful) and then I have to go back to the library and get some new books to replace a few that didn’t pan out. I know which two I want, though, and I think they’ll be useful, and once I have them, I shouldn’t need any more. I hope.
I think my new version of the topic–on gender roles instead of sexuality–is probably a lot better than the old one, but…
…I still wonder if there’s any point to any of this.