If I'm blogging November, the busiest month of my life (I sincerely hope it doesn't get any busier than this, because I'm not getting any younger), I'm probably going to be whining a lot, so apologies in advance. To compensate, I'm going to try to find at least one good(ish) thing to say about every situation, as in my election post.
I often suffer from that crippling self-doubt which I understand is almost universal amongst creative artists. I assume it's the root of writers' block. The force that stands in opposition to my self-doubt is pressure, but the interplay between the two is a delicate balancing act governed by some kind of chaotic equation I have yet to solve.
Self-doubt, a giant obese and belching monster of a thing, sits on one end of a see-saw. As pressure builds (deadlines loom, performers ask for music, professors look disapprovingly at my output, I look disapprovingly at my output), it adds weight to the other side of the see-saw. The see saw needs to be at a slight angle, with the pressure outweighing the self-doubt just so, for me to compose successfully. If the pressure builds too high, however, the see-saw suddenly tips in that direction (the fulcrum is a bit faulty) and the flabby self-doubt is catapulted off its perch and lands on my head, crushing me with its FUPA.
Unfortunately, lately this relationship has operated in such a way that I feel the perfect amount of pressure to write something immediately before I'm scheduled to have a composition lesson. Then, of course, as soon as I get started, I have to stop in order to attend said lesson.
This is a really stupid way of doing business, Brain. I see you defeating yourself, and I'd like it to stop, please.
The silver lining is that I think I like the thing I'm writing this particular morning-before-lesson.