Starting over (again)

Writing is the hardest thing I insist on making myself do and sometimes I need the push against the solidity of failure to get back on my feet.

Every day I plan to write. As sure as I’ll drink coffee and eat food, I’m gonna write. And sure, I do my Morning Pages every day, but those don’t count. They’re just the warm-up to a day. Practice. Sorta. But also I use them to work out feelings. So more than just practice.

And now I’m (re)remembering (again) that the hard part isn’t the writing, but the sharing. It’s not getting the thoughts down, it’s getting them polished and ready to publish.

A month ago I lamented I missed a day or two of publishing a piece. That was back when my goal was to put out something once a day. In the intervening 30-odd days, I only wro — published three pieces. That’s less than one a week instead of one a day, for those keeping track, and it’s far afield from my goal. And even though some of the ones I did publish were more interesting (or at least more labor-intensive), I’m pretty disappointed in myself. The whole goal was to get used to working within a deadline. So yeah, I’m back to being sad (again).

But there’s a kind of strength to be found in the sadness. I imagine my procrastination and fear of being sad are wrapped up together. Entwined like vines blocking the path to success. (lol “success” here means publishing a short piece which I hope to earn a few cents from.) So once I’m actually sad — lonely, worried, regretful, etc — and I’ve accepted it, well that vine…