Hi, internet. The longer I don’t write the more I can’t write and more I can’t write the more I avoid trying or thinking or talking about writing. And that would be okay — lots of people don’t write — except that if you were to scrape away all of the words that describe me until you were down to the most very basic core of me, one of the few words left at the end would be writer.
Some of the other words would be dark-eyed, mess, silly, chatty-brain.
Back when I was doing professional writing jobs, I never experienced serious writer’s block; when you have a deadline it’s too bad. If the topic was boring or complicated, I have to figure out how to make it interesting and clear; if I was avoiding part of an assignment that meant there was something I didn’t understand. All I have to do is write down questions and find answers and keep going.
But my own personal writing is different. And with the blog this keeps happening lately. Why? It feels almost like social anxiety. Not because of the social aspect. More like I’m fearful of my own — what? Criticism maybe? Because the longer I go without writing, the more profound and perfect I think my post must be.
Well that’s stupid. Just like writing repair manuals for ATMs or crafting surgeon training booklets, my work on this blog shouldn’t stop any time I feel a little blocked. Next time I don’t know what to say, I’m going to post anyway, say stuff anyway, because often the only way to move forward is to shut up and move forward.