I’ve been trying to start a piece of writing recently, but the blank page has teased and taunted me. I don’t want get specific about what it’s for, since I don’t know if things will pan out and I don’t want to jinx it. I can say that I moved forward on an idea for the piece, a move that I’ve fought against.
This piece has been difficult for me. There are certain requirements that I need to include and I was having trouble pinpointing exactly how to write the piece I wanted while staying within those requirements. Sunday night I finally sat down, put my fingers to the keys, and didn’t stop until I had busted out a first draft.
It turned out better than I thought it would. When I read it aloud to my husband, I was pleasantly surprised by what I had been able to produce. I guess that was part of my problem: I didn’t think I had what it took to write this piece.
I’ve wrestled with my writing life lately, feeling not enough. From what I’ve read and heard, this can become a never-ending feeling for a writer. I beginning to understand why. For years I’ve gotten confirmation on most aspects of my life from the outside. Writing forces me to look within myself to confirm that my ideas are on point. It’s a process I’m still getting used to.
But I will master that process. Oh yes. I will master it.