There’s safety in writing.
There’s security in being able to hide away in all of the little dark corners of my mind with just me, my thoughts and my coffee. Hashing out my past in imaginary ways, defeating the demons that once held me down, all in the minutes of nap time.
There’s a lot of safety in going no further than NaNoWriMo attempts. There’s no pressure to share, no pressure to be perfect, no pressure to work any harder than you have to. I get the words out, then pack them away.
I began writing my “stories” the minute I learned to write. Crazy, far-fetched, fictions that took me away from the pressures of never fitting in. I learned that I could make my self popular, I could get attention, I could be far away from the meanness of life by just putting a pen to the paper.
But it seemed as though there was always something, someone better. And being that I lack competitiveness, I would pack my thoughts away and tell myself that I would never be good enough to go anywhere with it.
Yup, I’m one of “those” kind of people. Hell, it took me a year to realize that I do have some talent, and just because blogging doesn’t come naturally to me does not mean I lack all skill in writing. It means I’m not one of those witty bloggers… and that’s it. Duh.
So anyway, back to the safety net, I’m ready to burn it. Yup, for real this time. *takes a deep breath*
I’m setting deadlines and goals, like normal people do, and I’m going to take the plunge. 30 minutes everyday devoted to nothing more than editing and writing. I’m going to actually tell people I’m doing this, add some accountability to it, allow my self to want it and the such. Yup. Right after I finish highlighting things in my seed catalog for next year’s garden and finish knitting that blanket, THEN I’ll try to get all down to business.
Wish me luck!