People think writers love to write. And, to an extent, that’s true. I love writing much more than I love auto maintenance. Or accounting. Or internal medicine. Or any of the million other things I perceive as “complicated”. And it’s true that, when it’s flowing, writing delivers an electric high and a gaudy sense of power.
But when the words dry up and the inspiration stops, it’s like having every functioning part of your psyche sedated and restrained. In the wrong circumstances, it’s debilitating.
And, for some reason, blogging pushes these two extremes much farther than any other medium I’ve tried. (Notice I conveniently added that “I’ve tried” phrase in order to avoid having to compare blogging to writing a book. I’ve tried blogging.)
When I have something to say and an idea to write about, I love blogging. A few of my favorite writings are buried here on this blog. When it’s there, I can crank out a post I love in half an hour without doubt or second-guessing and never look back (except to smile and feel proud).
But when it’s not there, blogging terrifies me more than any project at work. Nothing sounds good. Nothing feels original. (In fact, I feel like I’ve written this post before, but I’m too afraid to look back and find out.) And I don’t know why, but my momentum is so easily lost in this medium. All it takes is one misstep – one potential post that I can’t make work…and it’s gone.
So 40 days of blogging truly scares the crap out of me. And sliding into a funk on January 31, before I’m technically even supposed to have started, does not bode well for the next six weeks.
Here’s hoping something interesting happens tomorrow!