It's been a difficult 2 weeks in my writing. I've felt enmired at this particular junction of the story. I've come at it from different angles yet have not been able to penetrate the heart of it. Doubt set in. I worried that I would end up dropping the project passively. It starts so easily. I miss one day of writing because the cat has a wound and has to go to the vet. Then another day is missed because I told myself I would write from home but never did. It is easy to come up with excuses to not put pen to paper. Ultimately the fear which kept me away, brought me back to the table. I knew if I waited any longer to return, I would not.
So I returned to Starbucks yesterday and procrastinated a little longer by responding to an email from a writer friend. I joked about how he was now my excuse not to write but in so doing I recognized that I was writing and finding satisfaction in the irony and humor within.
What I was reminded of is how easy it is to let the voice of doubt creep in when I am groping in the dark trying to find the way through. Like so many other things in life, writing is humbling. The only way forward is to be willing to stumble around, to take some dead ends and to be forgiving of myself for the false starts and the wrong turns. Putting pen to paper last night was like walking the rocky shores of the Pacific Northwest barefoot - slow and uncomfortable yet happy in the knowledge that you are heading towards shelter and the warm glow of a fire.
So I returned to Starbucks yesterday and procrastinated a little longer by responding to an email from a writer friend. I joked about how he was now my excuse not to write but in so doing I recognized that I was writing and finding satisfaction in the irony and humor within.
What I was reminded of is how easy it is to let the voice of doubt creep in when I am groping in the dark trying to find the way through. Like so many other things in life, writing is humbling. The only way forward is to be willing to stumble around, to take some dead ends and to be forgiving of myself for the false starts and the wrong turns. Putting pen to paper last night was like walking the rocky shores of the Pacific Northwest barefoot - slow and uncomfortable yet happy in the knowledge that you are heading towards shelter and the warm glow of a fire.
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