To be, or not to be.

I don’t know why I have such trouble following through on things.

Yes I do. Fear of failure.

I swore I would apply to the Wash U MSW program, even went to a meeting, then to a campus visit. The whole thing looks sublime. They have a part time evening program and tons of scholarship money. But the deadline has passed and I did not apply.

My writing career has gone no where because I almost never submit anything for publication. I have nearly as much unpublished work as Emily Dickinson had when she faded off into her father’s eastern garden. I’m not kidding. Unfortunately, it is not under my bed nor in my wardrobe; it does not sit romantically in boxes waiting for my non-existent sister to find and publish when I die. It lives on various hard drives and inaccessible blogs that no one will want to sort through when I go, even if they can find them.

This all really bums me out. It’s like I can’t sustain the energy it takes to get through the fear. I made the album when I was going out with Kevin, I think, in large part because he kept telling me, over and over, “I believe in your art, Margaret. I believe in your art.” It was like having a patron, even if he didn’t give me money. Imagine Beethoven without encouragement. Tchaikovsky. I don’t know, maybe that’s lame. They would have written their music, but would it have been heard? What if all of Van Gogh’s paintings had lived on his hard drive, which was thrown away when he died? No one bought crap from him while he was alive.

Excuses!

Anyway, all this is a lead in to my desire to muse about how several people over several years but more so lately have suggested to me that I should perhaps do some personal cheffing. I want to. This sounds fun, and hard, and scary. But less scary than endlessly sending poems around until one of 100 gets taken and eventually there are enough published for a book. But I’m afraid that once I put it out there I will jinx it, ‘cause what have I ever finished since my MFA thesis? I mean, besides stuff I do at work?

Oh, ya, and what’s all this stuff about “The Secret?” Is this more New Age positive thinking crap? Is this more blaming the poor for not envisioning their wealth, the ill for not envisioning their wholeness? Or is there something more to it? Is there anything I want to do that I really believe I can do? I hate being so frail in this, but the truth is I wish I had someone telling me often and often that they believed in my art. Is that just too pitiful? Should I try it? Or not? Argh….