Waiting For Me

There’s not been much writing going on this last month. I am annoyed… At myself…I guess like a lot of other writers and non writers I am my own worst enemy.

As the quote above suggests, my writing is in a cage of my own making, the door wide open but somehow it lies there waiting to be set free.

I am a writer who does not write…correction I am a writer who makes excuses not to write. I have full blown arguments with myself over this almost every week.

“Why are you not writing?” I ask myself. The answer always one of two answers…

“I don’t know”

“It will never be good enough”

So another week, another month, another year ticks by and the pen falls silent and then I get more annoyed at myself for not writing.

A flash of inspiration, the embers are stoked, the fire burns and fizzles out again, waiting for more fuel to be added, again the embers blaze into life and the cycle begins again.

This is me and my writing, if I am honest this is probably me in a lot of situations! (don’t get me started on the number of unfinished craft projects I have on the go for one)

This is a battle, but it should not be. When I read some of the things I have written I think to myself, “Why on earth are you not writing more like this?!”

The fire burns and off I go again. I guess nothing in this life is easy and I feel the fire turning to an anger, an anger at myself which spurs me back into life.

I need to get tough with myself again. I can see Bob getting frustrated with my lack of writing too, looking at me sternly and tapping a watch, reminding me that there are only so many tomorrows out there with which to get my stories told. To get my ass in gear and shake myself.

These stories will not write themselves.

There is something missing from me, I haven’t really read a book in awhile (which is unlike me), perhaps that is what is missing, I haven’t lost myself in another world.

Reality has become the world in which I live, eat, breathe (not that it is a bad reality, far from it, but maybe I need to learn to get lost again.

Maybe I’m waiting around, because having found so much of myself these last few years I have forgotten that it is OK to get lost once in awhile, to be lost for a time, as long as I always come home again.

I have some holidays coming up,  I intend to get lost in many adventures that do not involve housework, bills, adult responsibility.

Maybe then I will finally learn to stop waiting and write.