photo credit http://dailyshotofcoffee.com
A couple of moths ago I had the opportunity to have coffee with a writer whose work I very much admire. We sat in the crowed Starbucks and chatted about being married and having dogs and being insanely jealous of other writers but in the best way.
As we sat and sipped our coffee I began to pick his brain about what life is like for someone who writes for a living. We commiserated over the frustrations of writer's block. (I lamented the blank page, he referred to the blinking of the cursor as mocking laughter.) We laughed about the way we obsess over crafting the perfect paragraph. Then I said to him "Well, all of this is a little more serious for you as a professional writer." He chuckled and looked down at his coffee and replied "If you want to call me a professional writer."
I sat back and thought to myself, it never really goes away does it? This insecurity. This guy has two books out, sold in major bookstores all over the country with a third due next year. He has a contract. He travels and speaks all over the country and he still struggles to think of himself as a professional writer.
I tell you all this story because I haven't updated this blog in almost two months. It's not really writer's block. Not really. I have ideas. I have a notebook I carry with me with pages full of sentences that carry the seed of a full post. I have evernote on my phone and am able to capture the idea as it pops into my head before falls out again and scatters to the ether.
The problem lies more in motivation. The willingness to sit at my computer and mine my soul for gems, to get my hands dirty in the muck. To ignore the distractions and simply create.
To me the hardest sentence to write is the first one.
I always ask myself, who do I think I am? Who am I to broadcast my opinions to everyone. What makes me think anyone would want to read it? Why should anyone read it?
I promise you that I am not throwing a pity party. I'm not looking for encouragement or a pat on the shoulder. I'm simply being vulnerable, for good or for ill.
In my dreams I think of myself as a writer, but working more than hours at a job with over an hour commute each way, I probably don't have much left for me.
Hopefully I'll get it together, start posting on a regular basis. Find my voice, find my audience. Write a full length book. I pray that I do. We'll see.
As we sat and sipped our coffee I began to pick his brain about what life is like for someone who writes for a living. We commiserated over the frustrations of writer's block. (I lamented the blank page, he referred to the blinking of the cursor as mocking laughter.) We laughed about the way we obsess over crafting the perfect paragraph. Then I said to him "Well, all of this is a little more serious for you as a professional writer." He chuckled and looked down at his coffee and replied "If you want to call me a professional writer."
I sat back and thought to myself, it never really goes away does it? This insecurity. This guy has two books out, sold in major bookstores all over the country with a third due next year. He has a contract. He travels and speaks all over the country and he still struggles to think of himself as a professional writer.
I tell you all this story because I haven't updated this blog in almost two months. It's not really writer's block. Not really. I have ideas. I have a notebook I carry with me with pages full of sentences that carry the seed of a full post. I have evernote on my phone and am able to capture the idea as it pops into my head before falls out again and scatters to the ether.
The problem lies more in motivation. The willingness to sit at my computer and mine my soul for gems, to get my hands dirty in the muck. To ignore the distractions and simply create.
To me the hardest sentence to write is the first one.
I always ask myself, who do I think I am? Who am I to broadcast my opinions to everyone. What makes me think anyone would want to read it? Why should anyone read it?
I promise you that I am not throwing a pity party. I'm not looking for encouragement or a pat on the shoulder. I'm simply being vulnerable, for good or for ill.
In my dreams I think of myself as a writer, but working more than hours at a job with over an hour commute each way, I probably don't have much left for me.
Hopefully I'll get it together, start posting on a regular basis. Find my voice, find my audience. Write a full length book. I pray that I do. We'll see.
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