Coming Back To Life, or, How NOT to succeed at writing

Any man who keeps working is not a failure. He may not be a great writer, but if he applies the old-fashioned virtues of hard, constant labor, he’ll eventually make some kind of career for himself as writer. – Ray Bradbury

Thank you, Mr. Bradbury. And thank you, reader, for coming back to my long defunct blog of despair. Ok, perhaps it's not that bad, but wow, two years of nothing?? What was I DOING the past 24 months?

I think it's safe to say, "writing" is NOT the answer that applies. In fact, I've been running from it much like a desert rat runs from a red-tailed hawk. The simple fact is, ladies and gentleman, I haven't written more than a paragraph in the last two years.

To put that into perspective, let's look at it in other ways. For example, a simple Google Search shows that on average the typical person takes about 2 years to complete a novel. Which means, had I actually worked on my novel, chances are it would be finished by now.

Or how about this: Author Malcolm Gladwell writes in his book that it takes roughly ten thousand hours of practice to achieve mastery in a field. Given a typical 8-hour day, in the past two years I would have been well over halfway to that 10,000 hour mark.

Crap.

Isn't it funny how things seem to get in the way. I could blame my lack of writing on many things - life, work, my favorite sports team... but really, it all falls down to the biggest killer of all careers - fear of failure. For me, I must admit I spent a lot of time just looking over my previous writing. I read it with the eye of a critic, and I wasn't impressed with what I read. I then began thinking to myself, "why should I go any further? If my past road was built with so many 'plotholes,' what's to say the future road won't be as bleak?" After constantly hearing such drivel from your own mind, eventually you come to believe it and that, my friends, is what happened to me. I lost confidence in myself, sure that it was all a waste of time. I instead focused on other things both useful and wasteful, but either way they both served the purpose of keeping me from writing.

About a couple of weeks ago, I received a rude awakening. My wife and I were talking, and I mentioned a great idea for a story. She didn't really respond, and it kinda hurt my feelings that she didn't think the idea good enough to warrant a response. I mentioned this, to which she replied, "No, the idea is a good one, I'm just wondering why you even bother to have these ideas since you never follow through with them on paper."

Ain't it also funny how your significant other is able to see right through the B.S. and point out the obvious? She was right of course, 100% on the money correct. I was embarrassed, shamed and forced to take a hard look at myself. I came to realize that, no, I'm not a professional writer. I don't have the skills to produce a grand tome of literary significance just because I want to. At least, not yet.

And so, I begin my writing life anew. I have begun writing again, and more importantly I think I've learned from my mistake. I've decided to push through my novel I want to write, not looking back at my previous writing with anything other than research and keeping things in line. I'm going to worry about how badly I'm writing, because I just want to finish the damn thing. I want to at least be able to look my wife and my friends in the eyes and say "Hey! Look what I wrote!" It may (heck, probably will) suck, but I am going to learn from the experience. I'm going to get better, and I'm going to get published some day. None of that will happen unless I work...and work... and work. I'm ready to roll up my sleeves and get the ball in my pen rolling.

Let's do this.