I keep forgetting to breathe. It's a thing with me lately. I get to the end of a sentence and realize I forgot to take a breath. Or maybe I'm having low grade panic attacks, like those little shocks that travel down a fault line before the tectonic plates do a little shifting and trigger a massive quake. I can't shake the feeling that something is about to happen, something big. I don't know if it's good or bad. Things I've been feeling more of lately, paranoia about how much of myself I put out there or perhaps the feeling that for the first time I'm putting my real self out there. Doing stand up, writing as a writer and comedian and not the character of a pornstar, requires you to put your real self out there. The opinions you have, the life experiences you've had, they all belong to you, not a made up character. That's been an adjustment for me. On the podcast I'm starting to talk more about myself, the conversations are becoming less focused but more intimate.
Writing a novel length piece of work is an emotional sine wave. Every day I wake up and feel something different, excitement, apathy, fear, despair. You run the gauntlet of insecurities. Is this good enough? Does anyone care about this story? Is this even interesting? Why am I writing this? What am I trying to say? I know that I can't get to the art if I'm too focused on what other people are going to think of it, if I'm creating some imaginary audience. I have to write as though I'm the only one who's reading. It's a balance. To spend time, A LOT of time, working on something that you're not sure will have a pay off or not. If I work on this novel and nothing comes of it, have I wasted a year of my life I should have spent working on a TV pilot so I could get into a writer's room? Those kinds of questions. At least if you're me. I'm always trying to comfort myself with a plan.