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.
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.