So I was chilling out on the couch, thinking (not writing) and trying to figure out what my problem was. I was thinking about all the things that are wrong with my writing. This is a problem, but it is not THE problem.
What is THE problem? There isn’t one. It’s a hodgepodge. Most of which have to deal with fear. Not fear of regular things though. I’m not afraid my writing isn’t good, I know it’s not. Not false modesty, I just know where I am and where I want to be. It’s not fear of committing to any idea, that I’ll go in too deep or won’t be able to go deep enough. I recognize that good stories are good stories and everything you write is a story regardless of what it is, so make it good. That’s not it.
I’m not afraid of writers block. Just write. That comes natural. I’ll write about anything. The day I can’t write is the day I stop (fill in the blank here. That is such a stupid statement).
My fear, is the great fear of me. See, I was blessed with an overabundance of curiosity. I didn’t realize it until recently, but I have a bunch of the stuff. I’ll never be able to fully tame it. I just want to know more and more. I also love telling people what I know. Not in a braggadocios (a word that feels snootier to write than to say) way, but I have a genuine want to help other people know more. I loves knowledge.
So I write. I fail in my writing because I scatter myself oddly about. Not in the lack of focus on any particular idea sense, or any lack of faith on that topic, but in a I don’t want to bore people and really, that next topic is also interesting so let’s write about that too and can I fit that topic into this topic somehow sort of way. It’s majorly frustrating, but don’t worry. I’ll fix it.
It turns out that in all of my planning I didn’t plan enough. I failed to live up to work smarter not harder. So there’s an idea. Let’s see how long it lasts before I think of something more awesomer.