I have been up to battering myself once again. Fear has struck with prowess and has splattered me to the floor, hands tied behind my back. Waster of Time he says. There is someone who has said it in a much more eloquent manner? I can’t recall. That is part of FEARS characteristics. A small part mind you, but still…it inhibits and knocks me down to both knees.
I should write something but there are so many good writers and photographer’s out there. Who am I? When I am least concerned, a good piece might pop out and it makes me tremble. Well, makes me happy. Let’s put it that way. I am now depending on other’s poetry to fill my page and other writer’s works. It is so much easier than to pick up pen, plunk it into the inkwell, blot and write something out of my head.
When I began this blog, for the third consecutive year, I said to myself; I am not going to post other people’s photography or poetry. This is my page and what I share will be mine. But guess what is occurring these days? A little deja vu don’t ya know. It’s happened before and it wants to gnaw and curtail me un autre fois. I’m not good enough. I don’t have time. I’m wasting my time. I should be doing something more constructive and with endearing results. Like quilting or embroidery, and the list goes on. Egads!
I want to be me even though I’m past sixty-three. I want to find my writing voice. My style. They say you must ‘Practice!’ Well, honey. I ain’t got a whole lotta time to practice. And my fingers are wearing thin. I don’t mean to complain. Really, that would be silly at my age. I need to be thankful that I can write a little every day. Never mind trying to be better than the next guy. Just be better than I was yesterday.
Okay, that will be my plan. Forget all the good stuff I read, but enjoy. Write to compete with myself rather than all the learned teachers, professors, published writers, the qualified, the certified and the mass producers. Will I allow myself to just be me? Write at my own pace, and realize that I might be producing a piece of writing that could speak to a soul in need, bring a tear to an eye, encourage someone to change their underwear, perhaps stop someone from taking addictive meds (with help, of course) and just enjoy the breath that is entering his/her/my lungs and escaping while another is waiting to enter.
FEAR! BE GONE!