This blog has nothing new to say (I'm not sure any of them do). This blog will not be publicized on FB or Twitter or anywhere else. This blog is me, fighting the urge to not write.
I committed to myself, and to anyone else who was willing to hear me, that I would write. And so in my classic style I dug out a book borrowed from a friend. The Artist's Way. 12 weeks to unblock your creativity and rediscover your talent. I read the first chapter. It seemed easy enough. I identified with most of what was written. I disagreed about the fact that I would resist doing the given exercises, I wanted to write right? It was my decision? Why would I resist?
I embarked on the journey, elated that I am taking steps to do what I want.
Skip to Day 5 - I am finding every excuse I can to not write. I justify it so well to myself. I'm tired, there's too much to do, the maid's on holiday, I must pack for my trip. The list goes on. Every fibre of my being is screaming that I shouldn't write. I didn't do the exercises and I didn't want to write this blog.
And so I forced myself to get off FB and write this blog. To write whatever came to mind. To be brutally honest in admitting that I am using every excuse under the sun to run from writing.
Which brings me to question why? Why am I running away when I feel like I truly want to write? The answers are fairly simple. I am scared. No wait, scared is too mild a word. I am terrified! I am terrified that once I actually stop running away and sit down to write, I will have nothing to say. If I do have something to say it will be of no value. No one wants to read what I write. And god forbid if it is quasi-decent writing, what shape and form does it take? I have a seedling of an idea. I don't know how to take it forward or make it interesting. What if I fall flat on my face?
Aah! So that's what it is then. That sneaky little fear of rejection has creeped up on me again. It's what stopped me in my tracks all through my life. It held me back from dancing at the high school parties, from singing in the choir, from coming on-stage in my theatre days. It's what pushed me to marry the first guy who asked even though he seemed grudging and unwilling even when he proposed. It's what kept me quiet all those years when everything inside me screamed to be heard.
So today I fight. I fight myself. I fight my fears. I fight to be heard. I fight to tell my story whether someone wants to hear it or not. And this blog is my first step. It's my first act of defiance. This is me saying no matter how hard it is, not matter how much I am told that I have nothing of value to say, internally or externally, I will speak. I will write because it is a commitment I have made to myself. I will not give up on myself again. Even if I miss a day, a week, a month, I will haul my ass back to the table and I will write. If my book takes 3 years instead of one, I will still carry on.
I will not allow anything or anyone, including myself, to stop me. I will not reject the idea before I have given it everything I have. I will not give up, because this time it's only for me and there will be no regrets.
I committed to myself, and to anyone else who was willing to hear me, that I would write. And so in my classic style I dug out a book borrowed from a friend. The Artist's Way. 12 weeks to unblock your creativity and rediscover your talent. I read the first chapter. It seemed easy enough. I identified with most of what was written. I disagreed about the fact that I would resist doing the given exercises, I wanted to write right? It was my decision? Why would I resist?
I embarked on the journey, elated that I am taking steps to do what I want.
Skip to Day 5 - I am finding every excuse I can to not write. I justify it so well to myself. I'm tired, there's too much to do, the maid's on holiday, I must pack for my trip. The list goes on. Every fibre of my being is screaming that I shouldn't write. I didn't do the exercises and I didn't want to write this blog.
And so I forced myself to get off FB and write this blog. To write whatever came to mind. To be brutally honest in admitting that I am using every excuse under the sun to run from writing.
Which brings me to question why? Why am I running away when I feel like I truly want to write? The answers are fairly simple. I am scared. No wait, scared is too mild a word. I am terrified! I am terrified that once I actually stop running away and sit down to write, I will have nothing to say. If I do have something to say it will be of no value. No one wants to read what I write. And god forbid if it is quasi-decent writing, what shape and form does it take? I have a seedling of an idea. I don't know how to take it forward or make it interesting. What if I fall flat on my face?
Aah! So that's what it is then. That sneaky little fear of rejection has creeped up on me again. It's what stopped me in my tracks all through my life. It held me back from dancing at the high school parties, from singing in the choir, from coming on-stage in my theatre days. It's what pushed me to marry the first guy who asked even though he seemed grudging and unwilling even when he proposed. It's what kept me quiet all those years when everything inside me screamed to be heard.
So today I fight. I fight myself. I fight my fears. I fight to be heard. I fight to tell my story whether someone wants to hear it or not. And this blog is my first step. It's my first act of defiance. This is me saying no matter how hard it is, not matter how much I am told that I have nothing of value to say, internally or externally, I will speak. I will write because it is a commitment I have made to myself. I will not give up on myself again. Even if I miss a day, a week, a month, I will haul my ass back to the table and I will write. If my book takes 3 years instead of one, I will still carry on.
I will not allow anything or anyone, including myself, to stop me. I will not reject the idea before I have given it everything I have. I will not give up, because this time it's only for me and there will be no regrets.
i am reading this blog to avoid writing...
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