I’m getting real for a minute

I actually feel weird about that phrase because it implies that I’m not always real. To be fair, sometimes I feel like I’m not…

But that’s not the point. It’s a widely understood idiom to the bulk of my audience.

Moving on.

Sometimes it’s hard to get up the energy to write one of these. I enjoy writing. I really do. I mean, I got a degree in writing because I really enjoyed having an audience that kind of had to read my diatribes the practice of word craft.

It’s still just really hard to get up, sit at the computer, and type the words on some days, though.

And I feel like it’s becoming more frequent lately. I hate that. I love writing. I love it. I come from a family of writers – men and women who can rewrite a song on the fly for fun. Poets. Story tellers. Playwrights (true story). Song writers. Animators. Writing is part of me.

But here I am, with 7 drafts cast aside (I am not exaggerating. I have 7 drafts started and waiting, and I’ve spent hours of the past couple of weeks staring at them), and I just…can’t.

This is my white flag.

I started publishing again 9 months ago. This is, by far, a record. And I don’t want to break it. I want to keep writing, practicing the craft that I “left behind” however long ago. I want to keep writing on the chance that someone out there Googles a question in frustration, and I happened to answer it, bizarrely, somehow.

It’s just…really difficult right now.

So I’m giving myself permission to write whatever I want. If it’s Salesforce-related, awesome, that’s the goal. If it’s an excerpt from NaNoWriMo because that’s all I have in me, fine.

Whatever keeps me writing. Keeps me going.

Just keep writing.