I really have been trying to write lately. I am not one of those who can structure my writing. I can write everyday, and I do. Still this week has been a time of pure distraction. Even down to my writing app not functioning. My mind has been foggy, and I am quite afraid that if the app had worked…well it probably would have been something I deleted a day later. I have resolved to never delete what I write the same day. In some ways it keeps me from getting disgusted with what I have written and deciding it’s garbage…whether it really is or not.
So I have been doing other writing exercises. A journal, a bit of blogging, and still my heart aches. I have several work in progress that feel like I will never finish. It makes my heart ache because I feel like such a failure. In all honesty, I wrote my first novel at ten. However, in frustration and self doubt, I threw it away. I forgot what I wrote. So the uncertainty of that early failure (the trashing of what i wrote is the failure) followed me. I write, I publish. So far only a novella, a children’s book, and four volumes of poetry. I publish because it doesn’t cost anything. Perhaps it is still my self doubt that holds me back. I battle the low self esteem as I have my whole life. I am perhaps never going to see myself as others do. And that is actually Ok. I would love to see even once that which others see in me, but if not, then I will survive. I will continue to write because without it, I am nothing. I will continue to be kind and helpful to others, because it is not in me to be unkind. I will continue to be creative in every way I can find. For the creativity helps me to feel less ugly. Perhaps that is all there is in life. Finding beauty in the ugly of life.