Atrophy

Since I adopted a new writing goal for this blog, I've found myself wondering if I made the right decision. Since I am not expected to have new content everyday, I've given myself an easy out, settling for less than my potentional.

In fact, I've not been good about posting every other day like I planned, often throwing in bursts of entries, catching up with my long lapses. (See the three entries tonight, for example.)

As I've grown as a writer, starting around age 7 until now, I've seen a haphazard pattern. I'll write, jotting down a burst of ideas. I'll get some short stories out or a novella or poetry. I'll journal almost every day. I'll have this huge ocean of ideas I have to bring forth. And when I do, I feel awesome. I am the shit.

But then I drift. I let life get in the way. I allow all the things that make me busy to pop up and pull me away from pen and paper or my computer. I take a break, but it isn't a conscious break.

I always came back to writing, eventually. I always found myself one day compelled to scribble out pages on a thought or a story that was kicking around in my mind.

But those breaks scare me a little. At times I worry that my brain atrophies, losing some of the magic I once had, making it that much harder to re-commit myself to my work.

Like I said, I always come back. The urge, the need, is never far away. I can't not write. I just have to.

These past few months, giving myself the space for a partial break on this blog, has felt less than good. I have less pressure, no more constant deadline, but I also feel lazy, like I'm not really pushing myself.

And then I went to Frolicon.

I'm back now, having had some geeky kinky fun. While I was there, my time was split between two loves: writing and bootblacking (on which I'll focus my thoughts tomorrow).

As I saw familiar faces, heard familiar voices, and listened to familiar thoughts on the state of writing, one obvious notion slapped me hard: I could be up there. I could be one of the people on that panel. I could be doing this. Why am I not committing, really committing, to my writing?

On one particular panel, there were two writers who within the past year had their first works published. From the time I walked away from last Frolicon to the time I returned to the gathering, they had changed their literay lives. Have I?

Now, home and full of writerly thoughts, I see a need to push myself more, to do more, to be that much more motivated to my work, committed to the efforts it takes to make my writing that much better. And I'm left with an obvious yet poignant thought.

I can do this.

To that end, I'm adding another writing goal for myself for this year.

I will submit at least one work per month for the rest of the year for publication. I already submitted a short story last month, and I know of two more calls out for submissions due by the end of April and the end of May.

No more laziness. Time to kick it up again.