introvert – Mick Canning

Yeah, the book’s out. I’ve gone through the motions, but at the moment I feel I don’t really care what happens to the thing. I feel flat. Is this normal? I can’t remember if I’ve felt this way after publishing previous books. Perhaps it’s because it took so long this time around. I love the process of writing but the marketing sucks. I hate the feeling I’m pressurising people into buying something. Partly, I think, it’s a typically English sort of thing – I feel really embarrassed about self-promotion, about blowing my own trumpet. It’s ‘not what we do’.

Except, of course, we do. That’s just a caricature, really, although inevitably some of us do fit into that description. Some of this feeling I think is wanting to get on with a new project. A need to move on and explore something different. I’ve lived with the damned thing for so long, thought about it, talked about it, agonised over it, I just want to get stuck into something different! With no distractions.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m proud of the book. I’m pleased with how it turned out. The characters, the story arc…but I do hate the promotion. I suppose it’s a particularly personal thing; I was asked if I would do a book launch, to which I replied no, I wouldn’t. I don’t like reading in public, I wouldn’t really want to do a question and answer interview. That’s the introvert in me. But if a few people get to read it, and if they get something from it, then I guess I’ll be pleased. I know that doesn’t seem like much of a return for ten years’ work, but there you go.

But I find I’m writing notes frantically, and I’ve begun a small project, a poem, or perhaps short poem cycle, that I’ve had in mind for a while. And the notes will either end up as ‘zine articles, or even another novel.

Maybe both. Who can say?

I rarely, if ever, make New Year’s resolutions. I feel that if there is something in my life that needs changing, then it should be addressed straight away, rather than leaving it until an arbitrary date in the future. Of course, for many people it acts as a focus or some other incentive to change old habits, although witness the number of gym memberships that never get used beyond, say, the end of January, and it becomes obvious that what many people need to change most is their resolve.

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Possibly jumping the gun a little with this photo…

As an introvert, I am very curious to know whether much of my behaviour is conditioned by my being that, or whether it is my behaviour that causes my introversion in the first place. It’s probably a ‘chicken and egg’ situation, of course, with both applying equally. My introversion is surely driven by those elements of anxiety, my inferiority complex and the depression I’ve always lived with, and, in turn, those things will be reinforced by my chosen introverted lifestyle.

But we are complex creatures. Like Harry Haller in Hermann Hesse’s excellent novel Steppenwolf, each one of us consists of many different personalities. Our characters will be made up of a mixture of the cultivated soul, the wild, untamed soul (the ‘wolf of the steppes’ in Hesse’s book), the dancer, the monk, the shopaholic, the miser…all those elements will be there to a greater or lesser degree. And alongside the Introvert exists also the Extrovert, even if this personality is rather repressed in my case. It is all a matter of balance.

It seems much worse in the winter, too. I am certain I am affected by SAD; it seems entirely logical that I should feel low when the weather is cold and grey and bleak, and perk up when the sun comes out. Perhaps we all do.

Yesterday, the weather was the pits. Cold, grey, and bleak, with added showers of freezing cold rain and a wind that cut through me like a knife. I really felt like crap. But today, I walked out under a clear blue sky, a bright sun glinting off the puddles and the grass rippling in a mild, gentle breeze. These are the moments I need to seize; to wrestle my soul back from the darkness. The moments I need to shake off the black dog and point myself towards the little things I can do to lift myself.

I remind myself that I have a published book that people have been nice about, therefore not all my writing is meaningless drivel. I have sold many paintings, and a lot of people have enthused over them. I can paint, and I don’t need to destroy them all. Family and friends do matter, and they do care about me. There will be warm, sunny days and expeditions. There will be walks and bottles of wine shared. There will be wonderful books to read and interesting places to visit.

And so, I resolve to fight that bastard black dog for another year.