If there is such a thing as “writer’s block”, either I have had it since forever, or I’m just not a writer.
I have always loved writing, and yet, I never really did anything about it. I didn’t took part in writing contests apart from when I was forced to by a professor. I never took part in the school newspaper. I can’t even write regularly on my blog, for god’s sake.
When you want your blog to grow and you dream of being spotted among billions of other blogs by your favourite publishing house, it’s not easy to publicily admit defeat. I feel shame when I think of the people who know me personally and read my blog, who can see that I’m failing, and who can read these words.
How can I tell people what I want to be, when they can see me fail through just by turning on their computer? I don’t know of other people’s successes and failures, but my attempts are right here, for everyone to see. I have a blog, and all I can’t write about it the fact that I don’t have anything to write about. It’s so pathetic that I often think of giving up, deleting this domain from the blogosphere and looking for a waitressing job – for the record, I don’t have anything against waitresses, it’s just not what I want to do, and also, my hands are very shaky.
I’m in the middle of a writing project (NaNoWriMo, for who knows it) and I have found countless different ways to procrastinate writing – including of course watching TV series and standing next to my sister in whatever she has to do – and I’m pretty sure I’ll come up with more. I spend most of my days floating in my frustration for not being creative enough even though I perfectly know that good results come along when you get your ass to your desk and write – also, I’m writing non-fiction, so creativity is responsible for like 30% of my work. Discipline does the trick, and natural talent is way overrated.
Awareness is not enough, either. Knowing that I’m doing it wrong is not enough for me to change my ways. Discipline is not that easy. I thought I would improve with age, but it hasn’t happened. Only my frustration grew, because the more mature I am, the more clearly I can see my faults. I see the patterns, I recognise them before it even starts, and yet I can’t seem to prevent it. Yet.
Yeah, “yet”, because I want to believe that I will change. That instead of crying over my lack of abilities I’ll work my ass off. That instead of sitting in a corner complaining that brilliant ideas don’t fall from the skies, I’ll sit in front of a desk until I come up with something I’m satisfied of, and I’ll understand when it’s time to go out and get some fresh air. And most of all, I’ll learn to be satisfied of my work even when it’s not perfect, because “done is better than good” (quote by Elizabeth Gilbert), or as George Patton said it, “a good plan violently executed today is better than a perfect plan executed next week.”
D’you get that? Go get that sh*t done.