The Source of my Procrastination

It has been brought to my attention that I am a terrible blogger.  I’ve received angry letters.  Well, not so much letters, more like IM’s.  And not some much angry, more like pointed.  Eh, splitting hairs.

I may be a terrible blogger but I’ve learned I am an awesome procrastinator.  That’s something, at least and I take what I can get.  I always have the best intentions, wonderful little ideas that play in my head.  They are terrific and ambitious … but never see the light of day.  My ultimate goal is to nurture these ideas into living, breathing creations and, dare I say, accomplishments?  Whether my ideas have to do with my blogs, my stories, or even myself I need to think less and act more.

I currently have a list of all the ways I’d like to improve this blog, a half finished entry for my Shadow Ridge series blog, and five separate ideas for stories… yes, five (three new and two continued!) I thought my main issue stemmed from the fact that I sometimes lack focus and that inspiration is so fleeting.  Then I read an article from Write to Done this morning.  The reason I have such trouble keeping up with things is because I haven’t committed myself wholly to my writing.  It’s no surprise really.  I have trouble focusing on myself and the things that brings me joy.  But if I ever want to reach my goals then I have to make a shift.

I have been writing  since I was a little girl.  I remember the first thing I ever wrote was play for paper bag puppets I made when I was 9.  By the time I was 13 I had notebooks full of a fantasy world I created that I could retreat to when things got rough at home.  I wrote all throughout high school but really found a place for my writing when I introduced to role-playing games when I was 17.  I wrote nonstop for years after that but shortly after the cancer my writing became sporadic and ended up tapering off completely.   That is until earlier this year.

I often think that my procrastination is a direct result of my fear of not being good enough.  It’s easier to put things off and allow them to live solely in my head than to put it out there and not be as well-received as I hope.  But not writing hurts my heart.  I need to write.  Despite the rust I know I am meant to write, it’s the only thing that I am truly passionate about.  Then I read this from the same article:

“And before you know it, you’ll forget that you ever were a writer. You’ll convince yourself that writing is unsustainable as a career and not that important even as a hobby. You’ll forget what it’s like to finish a great piece and bask in the knowledge that you’ve created something out of nothing. That this is what you were meant to do; that it gives you energy for every other part of your life. And you’ll tell yourself that it obviously wasn’t right for you.”

I’ve been to that place and let me tell you, I am not going there again.  It’s time for me “to trust my instincts, close my eyes, and leap.”