I really and truly love to write. As evidenced by the sudden upswing in posting, I’m in a bit of a “writing mood”. But there’s something else about this that’s niggling in the back of my head.

I hate myself. I hate myself for not writing more. I hate that I don’t take the time, the effort, to use my God-given talents with words and knowledge to bring something of value to the world.  I hate my laziness.

And then I remember two little things.

First, most of the time, I don’t know what to write.

Second, I really shouldn’t hate myself.

Oh.  Right.

So I try.  I go on writing sprees.  I sign up for NaNoWriMo.  I start a new blog or reignite an old one.  I try and think of things to write about.  I let the words come and flow and spring forth from somewhere within my soul.

I still feel disappointed in myself though.  I still want to do better, do more.  But who knows.  Maybe this spree is the start of something more lasting, more complete.

Maybe I’ll even write a book.  I don’t know what about.  I don’t really CARE what it will be about.  I just want to write something, see my name in print, even if no one else reads it.  It’s like directing.  I got a degree in the field, I wanted to direct a show, and I did it.  Maybe I don’t have a degree in writing (English was part of my degree at FUS though) but I want to do it.  Maybe that will be enough.

Maybe I won’t have to be disappointed.


One thought on “Self-disapointment

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