It’s been a long time since I could write. I have so many reasons, but they all boil down to I just didn’t care. I didn’t care about the stories. I didn’t care about myself. I didn’t care enough to finish. I didn’t care enough to start.
Something changed, though. Maybe the weather, maybe my attitude. Perhaps it coincides with a break in my day-work load. No matter why, the change happened and I felt like the person I have always thought I was.
I am still plagued with self-doubt. I am still worried that I will be laughed at. I still hide behind a pen name in case it all goes to shit. But I have started again and I will finish. There is so much I can look back on and say, “if I only had tried.” I don’t want to do that anymore.
Today I put the finishing touched on a thriller outline and wrote the first 500 words of the story. It’s a step, a tiny step that I hope to repeat day after day. Why only 500 words? I needed a reachable goal. The outline was nearly done and I formatted it into Scrivener. Then, the first scene and a half just poured out. It’s almost as if the act of writing something gave me the inspiration/energy/moxy to keep writing. It’s the oldest advice in the world: if you want to write, then you have to write.