Friday, March 2, 2012

I Am a Writer.

I am a writer. I know this deep down in my marrow.

So why am I so resistant to writing? I can tap dance around profound inspiration until it's old and dull and I just don't feel compelled to write anymore.

It's kind of a game I play. It keeps me up at night, composing ingeius blogs and articles in my head while the rest of my family sleeps, biding my time until the computer is available. Only to find myself busying away productivity once the sun peaks over the horizon. It's like I'm afraid of something.

And I probably am. I am afraid that what I write will be boring, or stupid, or that people won't want to read it. I don't want average. I want writing has become tangled up with pressure and stress and...something more that my online thesaurus doesn't even have a word for.

My last article published in the local newspaper and republished in the local town magazine has received major accolades from my local community. But it just makes me feel incapable. Incapable of creating something else that will get the town talking. I feel like a complete and total slacker.

So I'm back here. Blogging again. Where I feel less pressure. I feel safe that I can blurt out whatever my brain is clattering about and it not have to be sagacious (although there's probably a bit of that waiting to flow out onto the keyboard, too).

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