I haven’t written anything in weeks.
Somehow I’ve gotten it into my head that everything has to stream out of my consciousness in perfect form or it’s not worth it. I lost the joy of writing over my need to succeed at it.
But in reality, it doesn’t matter whether I find success as defined by society’s standards. For awhile I was caught up in that, the idea that in order to be taken seriously as a human I needed to have something to show other than a string of menial jobs and a few little stories printed out of my computer. And I still harbor that dream of seeing my name in print, of being able to say “Look, I’m professional!” But looking back, I remember all the hours I spent lost in a world I created and how happy I was doing that, how I didn’t worry about the people reading the words because they were meant only for me and my pleasure. I just need to get back to that.
So that’s my goal for the rest of the year. Just the writing, the story and the people I create. Because that’s what I was doing when I was happiest… creating for the sake of creation and not publication.
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