I’ve got a secret

I’m going to tell you a secret.

I’m not perfect.

You’re not surprised.

I’m not surprised that you’re not surprised.

Why am I bringing up my lack of perfection?

Because my creative writing stream has dried up like the Sahara in July. Unless it’s drier in the Sahara in January because if it is, that’s what I feel like.

Bone freaking dry. I have nothing. I can’t find any inspiration anywhere.

Well that’s not completely true. I get a word here and a word there, but nothing will connect. Nothing will flow and it’s making me a little crazy.

Will it come back? What if I’ve said everything there is in me to say?

Well even I know that’s overly dramatic and pretty much just flat out b.s, but I’m still frustrated and a little anxious..

So I’m not perfect. I can’t just toss my hair back, push up my spectacles, and write something inspiring.

Can’t do it for lots of reasons. One – my hair isn’t long enough to toss back. Two – I had laser surgery a few years ago and don’t own a pair of spectacles anymore. And three? Well, why should I be perfect anyway? Why do I expect that from myself? I don’t expect everyone else to be perfect. I just expect you to give whatever it is you’re doing your best effort.

Frankly, it’s my fault. I haven’t made my writing a priority and it needs to be. It’s like any other skill. It needs practice. It needs to be developed and honed and worked at…polished. It’s like Nan’s silver teapot – it needs to be paid attention to or it tarnishes and becomes dull.

I’ve gotten busy with life.

We had company for a couple of weeks which took pretty much all of my time and attention. We’ve had a wedding and some other family obligations which have taken some of my time, too. Poor excuses really, but there you have it.

So I’ve been having trouble writing and part of the trouble, maybe most of the trouble, is that I expect myself to be able to produce something that is worth reading. Maybe not perfect, but I need to feel really good about what I publish.

I have a habit of not trying something if I think I can’t do it really well. I don’t want to give anyone the opportunity to poke fun at me. Seriously, I got enough of that in elementary school. Somewhere along the way, I got it into my head that if I wasn’t perfect at something I shouldn’t even try it.

What a load of bull puckey.

Most of us are doing the best we can with what we have. It doesn’t really matter what it is that you love to do – painting, gardening, developing the world’s next great, mind-blowing invention – what matters is that you find joy in what you’re doing, that you find some measure of fulfillment in it.

I am probably never going to win a Nobel prize for my writing. I will probably never be rich and famous. I’m not going to lie – those things would be pretty fantastic. I’d love to make a decent living from my writing, but I’m not giving up my day job just yet either.

I’m not perfect, but I’m going to keep trying.

I hope for your sake, and for mine, that my mojo finds it’s way home.

Until then, bear with me. It’s bound to get better isn’t it?

Keep that in mind for yourself too, would you? Perfection isn’t really all it’s cracked up to be. Some of my worst mistakes turned out to be some of my biggest blessings. I just needed to be patient with myself and keep on trying.

So… stay tuned…