Last week someone asked me, “Why did you stop writing?”
I didn’t know the answer to that. Some of the things that went through my head were:
- Time…which is bullshit.
- Language…I am not intelligent enough to write eloquently without cursing all the time.
- Grammar…I am so insecure about my poor use of proper grammar that it was too stressful to hit the “Publish” button.
- Featured images…it’s a pain in the ass to decide on and load a new featured image every day.
- About 100 other cruddy excuses.
The truth is that I stopped writing because I stopped writing. I was in a habit of writing every single day of the week, Monday through Friday. I stopped, I broke the cycle, so I quit.
Pretty silly, huh?
When I write, I am a better person. Writing gives me a reason to pay attention to the good that is in everyday life. When I don’t write, I don’t have to pay attention, which makes it easier to be a miserable cuss of a person who complains about the state of the universe all of the time while sucking the life out of anyone and everyone around me. It’s just easier that way.
I made a voluntary decision to be less-than-better when I decided to stop writing regularly. I consciously told myself, “It’s fine. Be not as happy, not as grateful and not as good as you can be. It’s easier.”
I set up my own obstacles, then walked to the other side and said that I could not get around them.
A featured image? Really? That’s is my best excuse?
A few curse words in the year 2019? That is a solid reason to not be better?
C’mon man. You can do better. The landmines I laid in my own field, I bought second-hand. They don’t even work. They are just for show. They are props I use to convince myself that my drama is real.