Tag: curses

Superstition

I’m the last person you would expect

I have a Ph.D., yet I am superstitious. Not in the way typically meant by that. I have a mostly black cat. I break mirrors all the time because I am preternaturally clumsy, and I have opened umbrellas in the house. And whistled past graveyards, just for fun. So I’m not superstitious in the traditional way.

I am superstitious in terms of curses. If something bad happens to me, especially in screwing up my work or writing life, it must be a curse, and the bad things will keep happening until I break the curse.

Photo by David Bartus on Pexels.com

Breaking the curse

There’s only one problem with my superstitions: I don’t know how to break a curse. First, I imagine no specific person cursing me; I think it’s probably fate who has it in for me. (This is so irrational it embarrasses me). How can I break a curse with that sort of provenance?

I sincerely think I can, however, if I could figure out how. My superstition includes not magic, but symbolic psychology indistinguishable from sympathetic magic (because I have a Ph.D., of course).

When I write this down, the rational side of me cringes. I mean really cringes. But that’s the flip side of the problem — this is something I’m probably doing to myself subconsciously. My belief that I am failing might cause me to avoid what I need to do to succeed — at least that’s the psychological explanation; I’ve already admitted I’m superstitious). So who is cursing me? Me.

Time for me to do some ritual to reclaim at least as much luck as other people have. I don’t want to be too lucky, because good luck attracts bad influences.

I told you I was superstitious.

On Second-Guessing My Ability

This picture has nothing to do with today’s topic.



I second-guess my writing talent all the time. I live with a constant critic who has no trouble getting into my head (as it is already in my head) to tell me that my writing isn’t enough — not interesting enough, not good enough, not publishable enough. The voice insists that I am writing the same stuff I wrote back in sixth grade.

Despite this, I’m not adverse to critiques. In fact, I relish getting better. But I’m still afraid I’m not good enough.

I hear this is not uncommon to writers, that most writers feel a constant sense of doubt, and that we wouldn’t want to meet one who doesn’t. But I need to shake this sense of self-censure (and self-censorship) for my long-overdue re-editing of Gaia’s Hands. I have to believe in the book to make it better.  

So, how to believe? Cognitive journaling might help — counteract all the mind-reading (“the critics hate it”) and fortune-telling (“I’ll never get published”) and name-calling (“I’m so talentless!”) and awfulizing (“my stuff sucks”). 

I joke about a magic spell, because I feel like my writing career is cursed. Of all the things I pooh-pooh in my life, curses are not one of them. I half-way believe in curses, even as I suspect they’re an externalization of one’s failure scripts. I’m looking at how to break the curse.

I suspect, though, I will have to live with it and create despite it. And someday, when/if I get published, I will celebrate all the harder.