I had goals, these lofty goals. I would write, constantly, and post enormous amounts of nonsense. I would press the words out of me like a grape stomping celebration, but it's been all sour grapes. I wake up, go work out, spend my morning drinking coffee and just being (enjoying all the mornings I can whilst free from a school schedule). Yard work might commence, TV shows may be caught up on, but I still have pages and pages of time to sit down, edit a novel, and write out some parts for this so-called bucket of a website.
Lately, I've been freeze-dried. I didn't finish up an overly creative school year that exhausted me. I was looking forward to having gobs of time to Blogpost the Summer Fantastic, but something is in my brain crawling around.
I can feel it. It's got over 100 legs, it's segmented, and it's inching up and down my synapses, shooting electric currents through my body. It shoots a warm shiver down my spine, and the feeling goes away for a moment, and then it returns.
It isn't constant. It's not a body snatcher. It only happens when I think about writing. I decide: "I will finally sit down and write today."
And then, my brain starts to feel the feels. It's almost like having the heebie jeebies.
There's a cartoon on Exploding Dog with which I relate. I want to create, but something is holding me back: failure, the blank page, no audience, anxiety.
I'm finally breaking through. When it comes to creating, we need to make sure we give ourselves permission to create garbage, even if it's public.
Once we give ourselves permission, there's no stopping.