I'm getting fed up with myself. I've self-identified as a writer since I was eight or nine years old and in reality I have eff-all to show for it. I've wasted all this time not tending my artistic notions. No excuses, it's my own fault. But still I refuse to quit. I don't think it's too late. The key, and I know this, is discipline. Self-discipline is where I fail every time.
I could look at this one way, as an opportunity to say if I haven't made something by now why bother? But I can't do it. Something in me feels unfinished. What I'm doing with my life right now is not enough. It's not that my family life isn't fulfilling, or my job even. It's just that when I think very hard and truly about it, that's not all there is for me. I'll forever be disappointed if I don't give writing an honest shot. Could be I just don't have talent. I am willing to accept that I am average. But not without some proof. I have to put myself out there first to find out. I don't think the world is awaiting my great masterpiece. It's just something I need to do for me. Like this dumb little blog, that's more for me, to make me feel like I'm doing SOMETHING, than anything else. It's an added bonus to have a modest audience and community, but I don't take it for more than anything that it is.
I've written this same entry a hundred times, and probably will a hundred more and that's OK, and it's not. It's OK in that I need it to keep goosing me along, like being put in the stocks, living with my non-producing shame if I don't come back to report to anyone waiting for me to live up to my intentions. It's not OK in that, how many more times does it need to be said? This doesn't count as doing the work. It's a pep talk. The first step to making a plan.
I'm taking a break from fiction, for now. Maybe forever, we'll see. I'm going to give memoir writing a try. Not my own life story necessarily, but a story from my life. I've got lots of them tucked in there. Maybe some fan fiction from my favorite already existing characters with the names changed? (OK, so even though I think that's crazy and won't read her books, I can't actually hate on E. L. James, because she took that formula all the way to all the banks). I just need to start somewhere. I just need to start.
OK! That's it! I shall go forth and be this particular kind of ding-dong on my own time.
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