Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Shooting Blanks

For the past couple of days, I've been musing with my G+ Writers' Circle about what inspires us to write and what blocks our progress.
For most of us, it is life experience that inspires us and "life" that blocks the progress.
I've been so frustrated with myself and my lack of written expression as of late.
Half-assed drafts of blog posts collecting dust in Evernote…some of them with time-sensitive subjects and their sentiment due dates have long since passed.
I don't even want to get started on how I've abandoned my manuscripts…giving the cold shoulder to the characters that once comforted me.
Journalling has even become a chore.
(admitting that is like swallowing a jagged metal pill with no water.)
I am struggling to find out why.
Why am I literally and figuratively incomplete?
Ideas come daily…hourly, even.
It's like I am loading a gun with prolific ammunition, taking aim and firing only to find out I'm shooting blanks.
But that can't be right.
It isn't, actually.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that it was less shooting blanks…and more of me putting a silencer on the gun.

When I emerged from my digital sabbatical, I vowed to set myself creatively free.
I would write what I want, when I want. I would not be boxed in by genre or niche.
The contents of my ADD-riddled head would happily find a home here... and still, I've yet to get into a groove.
I'm still trying to fit in.

It has come to this…
I'm not writing what I really want to write.
Because I'm scared.
Because it would change everything.
Because it would force me to let go of things I worked hard for... fought hard for.
Because it would force me to leap into the unknown.
Because I would be starting over…again.
Because I'm scared.

I guess I should take my own #DoEpicShit medicine, right?

The alternative?
Conform and shoot blanks... Or... Be silent and die