Today I had an urge to write my story, but honestly I have no idea what I have already. I have written many things down and I need to re-type everything into one place in order to know exactly what needs to be done. It’s difficult to do that because there are so many stories sitting next to me.
Sometimes I think I should just start over, but then I realize how much effort I put into my writing, and that it is actually the skeleton. I have a skeleton of a novel that I’m trying to create organs and muscles. It’s hard to do that when the femur isn’t connected to the hip.
Maybe I don’t have the passion for this? Is that why I’m unable to finish my story? Is that what happens with motivation and laziness. Even though I have gone back to this constantly and over time and I seem to have a passion for it, maybe I actually don’t….maybe my brain is subconsciously telling me that every time my wrist hurts from typing, or I can’t find the next word in a sentence.
Maybe…this isn’t about motivation, but about finding the right passion.
That would be really sad though, because I’ve been wanting this since I was a child. I’ve been wanting to write for since I was eight years old. I was told by people that I needed to change my path because I’m not a good enough technical writer. My grammar needs work and my transitions need to be more fluid. Maybe all the non-constructive critique gets into my psyche at times and makes me stop writing. That is what’s happening now…
I just have to sit up – get my fingers on a writing instrument and ignore the thoughts that go through my mind. Ignore those insecurities that will always stay with me, and that probably stay with everyone. Listen to my favorite authors and just write – write – write.
That’s easy to say, but will I be able to do it?