I  pounded  my  head  against  the  desk  again,  frustrated  at  my  lack  of  creativity.  The  word  document  open  on  my  white  laptop  held  the  same  sentence  I’d  deleted,  rewritten,  and  deleted  again  before  deciding  it  was  actually  decent  enough  to  keep.  #Irritating

I  closed  the  document,  and  clicked  on  the  internet  icon  knowing  exactly  where  I  was  heading  –  Social  Media.  Twitter,  Facebook,  an  update  on  the  blogosphere,  anything  was  better  than  having   to  scrunch  my  brain  into  writing  something  worthwhile.

Between  self-doubt  and  procrastination  feeding  each  other,  I  wasn’t  getting  very  far.  The  blank  wall  always  seemed  infinitely  more  interesting  than  any  drivel  I  was  sure  to  waffle  on  about.

Writing  as  a  craft  was  exciting,  exhilarating,  stupefying  and  damn  terrifying.  I  was  alone  in  my  pursuit  to  create   a  masterpiece,  saving  all  comments  for  when  my  manuscript  was  perfectly  polished  to  my  satisfaction.  Only  then  could  I  really  appreciate  the  feedback.  That  was  until  the  seeds  of  doubt  grew  into  a  mighty  tree,  and  the  evil  demon  sitting  on  my  shoulder  grew  into  the  devil.

Do  you  ever  feel  like  your  head  has  turned  into  a  jumbled  mess?

I’d  read  articles  online  in  an  attempt  to  ease  the  warring  conflict  of  what  I  thought  was  right  and  wrong.  Trying  to  find  the  answer  to  my  harmony.  Was  I  good  enough?

My  already  gooey  brain  turned  into  an  even  bigger  slush  pile,  as  the  articles  contradicted  one  another.  What  was  I  supposed  to  believe  now?  I  liked  logistics,  and  I  liked  rules,  but  when  they  clashed  it  left  me  with  a  headache,  and  an  uneasy  stomach.

Advice.  That’s  what  I  needed.  The  best  I  ever  got  was  to  forget  about  the  rules  and  just  write.  I   soaked  up  information  like  a  sponge,  and  what  I  thought  was  the  right  way  to  do  something,  wasn’t  the  right  way  for  me.  I  flexed  out  my  fingers  like  a  pianist,  and  bashed  away  at  the  keyboard.  Something  was  better  than  nothing.

The   key  role  to  writing  was  that  it  was  personal.  My  way  wasn’t  your  way,  but  I’d  still  get  there  in  the  end.  And  wasn’t  that  the  point?  To  share  our  passions  with  readers?

Writing  was  as  solitary  as   I  made  it,  but  I  wasn’t  alone.  Not  really.  I  couldn’t  expect  my  writing  to  be  perfect,  when  I  wasn’t  a  perfect  human.  I  was  my  own  worst  enemy,  but  it  was  time  to  loosen  the  reins  a  little.

“Whatever  happens,  happens.  We  can’t  go  back  in  time,  and  there’s  no  point  in  guessing  what  might  happen,  it’ll  cloud  your  judgement  and  you’ll  second-guess  your  motives.  No  good  can  come  from  that.  You  need  to  believe  in  yourself  Luna.”
–  Riley,  Nature’s  Destiny,  coming  2014