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