writer's blog

It's not writer's block. I can write whenever the fuck I want if there's no pressure. But ask myself to do it, that's a different story.

I have to sneak up on myself. Slip in a paragraph while I journal. Casually make myself an epically profound note on a walk and forget to sit down with it later because sitting down with it means intention and intention means work and it's not very sneaky of myself if I call it that.

Work.

What am I afraid of? Learning, growth, I live for that shit. Vulnerability is an excellent muse. Fear and angst great fuel for creativity. And I show no lack of being a self-starter. I self-started myself all the way out of a shit life and into a good one. I self-started a successful career that afforded me a reliable car. Just recently I cleaned my apartment, made myself a writing nook, and dropped money I didn't have on a writing class with an author I admire. ALL BY MYSELF.

The key is in the ignition. But I'm too scared to drive.

People say this: just sit down and do it. I can sit down and do all kinds of things that don't mean as much to me. That don't fill me with so much passion it scares me. Neurodivergence, trauma, can I blame the wiring for this block? This odd case of art-ism that makes me feel so much I shut down?

I'm freeze-frame frozen by all the options, stuck hard in this dream and praying for someone to tell me what to do before I tell myself I don't want it and wake up to an incomplete life.

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