The Words Not Written

How many blogs have I started and not taken anywhere? I’d say too many to count, but that would be a lie. I tried, right before starting this one. I considered renewing one of the old ones instead of starting new. I couldn’t bring myself to revive them. Both came from times in my past I don’t care to remember on a regular basis. So here we are, starting fresh, hopefully optimistic that I can use this blog to make writing a more regular part of my life.

I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I just have the classic writer problem of starting things and never finishing them. Now the random moments of inspiration are coming less and less frequently because I’m not taking the time to nurture them. I’ve managed to keep a daily journal for the past couple years, a level of consistency unseen in my writing past. I just know my writing needs more before I can truly start to grow. I need to write words that may see the light of day instead of only seeing the back of the next page.

This is my attempt to write something that has a chance of being seen by the wide world. A monthly blog commitment shouldn’t be so hard. (Much as I’d like to make it weekly, I know myself too well. I need to start small and work my way up. If I end up writing more, it can be a pleasant surprise for everyone.) I’m even giving myself the leniency to write whatever the hell I please. The only caveat is I have to press that Publish button. No more waiting until it’s perfectly polished. No more waiting for whatever I’m saying to prove some larger point. I need to just start writing more.

I’ve learned life is too short for me to spend it waiting to start writing because I’m afraid it’s going to suck. I’m afraid of lots of things, and I’m done letting my fears hold me back. My words NEED to be written. I AM a writer. Time for me to worry less about how my words are received and more about getting them out of my head and into the world.

What am I going to write about here? I’m not quite sure. Probably a little bit of everything. My interests are so varied I seem like five people crammed into one body, even to myself. I’m sure it looks less dramatic on the outside. Inside I have days where I’m confident and poised, ready to tackle whatever challenges come my way. But all it takes is one stray thought and that crumbles into crippling self conscious questioning my purpose in life.

Don’t be surprised to see a mix of posts here. For once I think I’m okay with that. I’m done trying to limit my writing to pretty labels. I’m going to write whatever I damn well please. Short story, poetry, novels, critiques, praise for a movie, random ranting; I don’t care what it is as long as it’s words I’m putting on a page. No more words not written.