Dear Steven, Pressfield,
I feel like a kid picking at her dinner plate. All that is left is vegetables - yucky ones like brussel sprouts or steamed green peppers. I use my fork to push the unwanted and undesired food around the empty plate. The echoes of my mom's warning, "You won't leave that table until your plate is clean!" echo in my head.
That's how I feel when I sit down to write. One of the tenants is "It's not the writing part that's hard. What's hard is sitting down to write."
Yes, sitting down to write is hard. I can come up with fifty thousand excuses, some very valid, on why I should put off sitting down to write. I play flash games. I stack dishes. I call people I've been avoiding. I am truly amazed with what I can come up with as reasons or excuses not to write.
However, I find it is just as difficult once I set my ass in the chair and pull up whatever I'm working on. I have to fight a whole new set of demons who are dead set that I am the most horrific writer that has ever lived. After winning the fight to sit to write, all I win is another fight. And after I defeat the "You Suck" demons, I have the demons who want to nitpick everything and the demons who wonder what's the point of writing when no one's ever going to read it.
And on and on it goes. Row after row. Fight after fight until I end up that disinterested writer just pushing unwanted and undesired words around my clean page.
I am writing this blog because I have no one I can talk to about writing. So, I am going to pretend you read these so I won't be so alone and won't worry that I will fail as a pro because I don't have a support circle or safety net. I hope you don't mind.
Sincerely,
Me
