…it bothers me that I don’t write. It’s not that I can’t write, and nothing’s stopping me from writing either. Of course, there are the everyday irritants like time and space but apart from that, nothing. And yet I don’t write as much as I should.
However, every time I start to write, the words flow. And yet I haven’t completed as much as a short story, let alone anything longer. (The only long work I have completed is a Sherlock Holmes adaptation for children. All credit goes to my editor for pushing me through it.) The only complete works I create are poems because, well, no one’s decided how long, complex, metaphysical or silly they can be.
I lack the discipline to write every day. It could be that I deal with words (clinical, corporate) all day that by the time I am free to write the way I want to (creative, complex), I can’t. I am not even sure if writing in a blog will help other than as a place to rant or a book/movie review collection. And what makes it worse is I know what’s the cure. To write.