For the first time in my life, I’m done with this s*it.
I feel like I want to break up with… it?
I almost slipped and broke my back in the shower this morning. And when I got out, I was like, “I need to write!”
My job implies writing but I end up focusing more on the visual part of the thing rather than the “wordly” part. Which is weird considering I’m the “start with the title and end with the content” type of creator.
I keep writing bits and pieces of a book that is 60% there. But for some reason don’t find the will to go through with it.
No matter how many $5 cappuccinos I buy at the local coffee shop.
I wrote nothing on this blog for the past almost three months.
The thing is, writing has always been there for me.
It’s been there for the hardest year of my life, back in 2017 when I wrote one article every single day. It got me through the death of a loved relative, a terrible breakup, losing my job and almost my mind. It’s been there afterwards, helping me get through rough times, a pandemic, and making enough money to get my own house and a 2006 Opel Astra H. Black. Diesel. It’s been there through the good and the bad.
Now, I feel like writing is something I’ve been postponing. Like a tough choice you have to make. Or a difficult talk you need to have with someone. Why am I postponing writing so much? Me, I have no idea. I do have the time for it, yet the will is the one that keeps going away.
There is no writing plan for 2024.
I have no idea what I’m going to post here on this blog.
And maybe that’s the issue, for me.
90% of my writing is planned in a marketing book for work.
I even planned my book writing and surely that never worked.
Planning is essential for me, especially since I’m old now and can’t get out of my house without a list. Yet too much planning, especially for writing, is only sometimes the greatest idea of them all.
Take this article for example.
I never planned this.
As I’m writing this though, I’m rediscovering that basic, almost carnal pleasure for free writing.
Just you, the empty page, and typing.
The sound of the keyboard, clicking away under my fingers like a song blasting from my distal phalanges.
Yeah, I googled that.
And just like that, I ended up writing, from the very dramatic and disastrous title I wrote first for this article.
I’m back, and I have no idea what comes next, but I’ll surely write about it.
No more big pieces. I’ll write them short and sweet. Just like me.
Here and everywhere.
Ciao!
