Hmm, that’s the longest Thomsen Space has been without a post.

I’m suffering from some kind of existential artist angst. I spend most of my time at work brainstorming the Perfect Idea, the book or whatever that is the best thing I could possibly ever write, but the result is that now I have way too many ideas and trouble committing myself to a single one.

And then I’ll start working on an idea and it’ll shift or change or refuse to be pinned down. And then I think that everything has been done already anyway, so why bother doing anything at all?

And then there’s the problem of people reacting to my work and freaking me out. Like in my last Subcutaneous post, someone saying “You have an excellent wit sir. I love reading these.” Argh! He’s like some random guy appreciating my work. I don’t know how to handle that, and yet presumably it’s exactly what I want as a writer.

No wonder I’ve been burying myself in consumerism lately, it’s a passive and easy way to assert some kind of identity.

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