I want to write. Not for money or fame. Not because it’s cool. But because I’m here every day and the words are in me wanting to get out. But I push them off because I have dinner to make. Or laundry to do. Or TV to watch. Or social media to check.
Then when I do, when I finally sit down, ready to give into the words that have been playing in my head all day, or all week….
I’m stumped. I’m blocked. I don’t know what to put down or what to write about. There is nothing in my life that anyone would care about. There is nothing exciting or daring or adventurous or extraordinary. So I lay my fingers on the keyboards and the frustration starts building automatically.
I’ve been told by people – mainly friends, but I trust their judgment – that I’m a really good writer. And there are times I believe it, too. I’m not extensively trained in being a writer, and I don’t know or use a lot of big words. I try to be flowery sometimes, but that doesn’t always translate well. Maybe because it’s not me. It’s not authentic. It’s because I’m trying too hard to be someone else I see online, someone with a large following and sponsors out the ying-yang.
Here’s part of my problem. When I’m flowing through the day, when I’m in the car, in the bathroom, in the shower, my mind works a little too much. All these ideas and words flow through me and I get a rush of adrenaline and feel like I’m on the verge of the best and most inspiring thing I’ve ever written.
Then I sit down to go to work.
And it’s just gone.
All those wonderful, inspiring thoughts. All the sarcasm and wit. All the emotion and thoughtfulness. I just lose it. And I feel like it might be gone forever. And then I feel like I’m not really a writer after all.
I’ve read that my ADD can make me a more creative, imaginative person, and I believe it. But I also believe it’s my downfall. It’s the hundreds of creative ideas that run through me on a daily basis, but it’s also the plug that blocks those ideas from becoming more than just that. And I hate it. I hate it for what it’s done to me my entire life. I believe it is why I am the dreamer that has rarely seen any of those dreams through to creation and success.
I never been a famous singer, or even a not really famous one, although I spent something like half of my life knowing that was what I was meant to do. I had some minor “success” writing about NASCAR, and I loved it, but I ended up putting that on the back-burner to start a family (not a decision I regret, by the way). After knowing in my heart I wanted to be a photographer, and consuming as much information as I could, I just stopped taking photographs with my DSLR, except for back-to-school pictures. And I created a blog, got super excited, threw myself a launch party to show how big this was going to be for me, and in the year since its creation I’ve posted tentimes. Including this right here.
I want more than anything to follow through. I want to make this blog more than just something I beg a few of my friends to read. But I just get stuck.
I know who to blame. If I had to guess, sitting at home constantly looping from Facebook to Instagram to Twitter to SnapChat and back again isn’t very productive.
I could write.
I could read.
I could study something.
I could exercise.
I could go to bed at a reasonable hour so that I don’t feel drained and exhausted from the moment I get home from work.
But I don’t. Because what if, while I’m busy trying to make my dreams come true, I miss someone else going out there and accomplishing theirs?
It’s stupid. I hate it and as I’m doing it I TELL myself it’s stupid. But I continue in my ways.
But I want to write. Not for fame or money. But because I get such a rush when ideas flow and I actually create something with my words, even if I’m the only one who reads it.
I think I get ahead of myself. When I finally do start writing, I am so worried about it being perfect, so worried about whether or not people will find it stupid and insignificant. Or maybe I’ll be too authentic – too “me” — and say something that makes someone not like me. A simple post will turn into a two week process of editing and tweaking and “perfecting”. And then I’m so zapped that its weeks or months before inspiration strikes and I write again. I’m so worried about sounding like an amateur, I’m afraid to put myself out there.
And really, what am I to write about? I’m not the queen of DIY, or decorating, or makeup, or fashion. My home life is pretty normal and pretty “boring” by blogger standard, I suppose
But now I’m just done.
I’m done striving for a perfection that doesn’t exist in my writing. I’m done trying to produce blog posts that mirror some of the writing style of woman I follow and admire. I’m done trying to impress people.
If I’m truly going to be a writer, it has to come from my heart. Maybe then I won’t be so blocked every time I sit down to write. Maybe then the ideas I have will flow, like they are right now.
So I’m posting this, raw and real. My ADD writing at its finest! Very little editing. It might be completely boring to you, and I guess that’s okay. I’ve spent so much time “preparing” to be a writer and blogger by “researching” others (a/k/a checking out other people’s social media pages and blogs, mostly) I’ve failed to realize that research only takes you so far. Eventually you just have to start practicing. As messy and messed up as it might be, it’s the only way to truly learn.
So here it is – my latest post. With all its flaws, and imperfections, as boring as it might be But hey…at least something has finally come out of my head onto the paper. It’s a start…