Here I Go Again

I gave myself a good talking to today. I said to myself, "Self, snap out of it!"

I was sitting at my desk at work, taking a break from reading about biotechnology, when I turned around and saw my journal peeking out of my purse. Then I sighed.

I sighed, because I realized that I hadn't written in it in a few weeks. Not a single word. The whole point of buying a journal small enough and light enough to carry around in the black hole that is my purse was that I'd be able to write it in at any time that inspiration struck or an image caught my eye or I wanted to record something that I was thinking about writing in to a story. Instead, it's become a reminder of what I'm not doing. I have not been writing anything at all. At least, nothing for my own personal enjoyment.

That guilt, combined with a kick in the pants from Stephen King's "On Writing," which I read while I ate my lunch, is just what I need to open up a writing project I've been avoiding and give it another go.

So, here were my words of inspiration today from King, "... stopping a piece of work just because it's hard, either emotionally or imaginatively, is a bad idea. Sometimes you have to go on when you don't feel like it, and sometimes you're doing good work when it feels like all you're managing is to shovel shit from a sitting position."

Well, since I've been in the midst of what I feel like is a "shitty first draft," to again borrow from Anne Lamott in "Bird by Bird," I certainly hope King is right.