I recently decided to file for a grant, specifically designed for formerly-incarcerated artists. Because of my recent brain damage, I've had to go slowly with the application process. Slower than I'd like.
All this lazy strolling through my work has given me a case of impostor's syndrome. Do I deserve this grant? Am I even a worthwhile writer? Is my story important or just a knot in my stomach that I keep trying to vomit onto the page?
I put together an author's website and it feels like such a silly thing. Look at this soft-bellied, limped-hearted shadow-of-a-dinosaur who won't stop talking and calls it art.
I asked a few friends to help me pick some writing pieces to showcase. I needed three as samples for the grant itself, but I wanted a few other selections for the website.
I read through them this morning.
Look at this dreary-lipped, hope-ducking blob who turns everything into sadness.I swear I used to be positive. Or, I think I was. Maybe that's never been true.
I just don't remember always being so sad in my writings.
I am not sad in my life, mostly. My palms are heavy with giggles I catch. My smile comes faster than frowns. My hands are always full of snacks and friends, and I never mix the two up.
I think maybe everything seems so sad because I just don't write often enough. I write about the things that hit hard, and nothing packs a punch like hopelessness. Sweetness is inherently softer.
I would like to write about it more. I would like to write more. I would like to do more, which is why I applied for this grant. Everything on my author page is real and happened, so I must be a writer. A writer writes. An author authors. A dinosaurs wishes for luck.
Wish me luck.
(And if you'd like, you can check out the author page and give me constructive criticism. I'll probably be removing 2 or 3 pieces from the site just to make it look less overwhelming. So if you have a least favorite piece, or a selection that isn't there that you think should be included, let me know. xoxo.)
