Vomit

How am I ever going to write when I can't get all this other shit out of my head? There are about a gazillion things that need to be done right now, or that the wife wants to do, and all of it seems to involve me coming up with more money. The money doesn't bother me that much, we always seem to find a way. It's the weight of all this stuff in my head. Every time I want to sit down and write for awhile all I can see in my mind's eye is a cloud of stress. Al the things I haven't done yet, or have been putting off, or that I know are looming just ahead.

Is there some tick to clearing the mind that I don't know about? Part of me is hoping the answers will come to me like some magical epiphany. Which just makes me think more about what I discussed in my last blog. By the way, I did make an appointment with a doctor, but the appointment is for April. I'm trying hard not to panic too much. Here I am thinking I'm doing something important, taking that almighty step in the right direction, and I have to wait THREE MONTHS!

Aside from that, I've had a long argument with myself about all the reasons and ways I'm finding to stall actually writing. I've decided to allow myself to read Stephen King's "On Writing" and Anne Lamott's "Bird By Bird", to sort of motivate myself, then I'm allowed no more excuses. I must write something, anything, for at least an hour and a half everyday that I'm able to do so. And that should be at least four days a week. Sometimes I have to work until noon and get up at seven in the evening just to go back to work again. It'll be near impossible to find time on days like that, but those days aren't coming around as often as they use to.

Whether or not I actually stick to my guns about writing everyday that I can is another issue in and of itself. I know from past experience that I am notoriously lenient on myself when it comes to things like this. I'm slow to punish and quick to reward when I finally do what I said I was going to do.

The truth is; I'm being kind of a weeny about all this. It can't possibly be as hard as I'm making it on myself. Just write. Write whatever comes to mind. It doesn't have to be perfect in anyway, it just has to be words made into sentences, made into paragraphs, and so on. I can't even make myself do that.

I want too much for what I write to be a really great book. It doesn't have to be. In fact the only thing I should worry about right now is just the writing. Not what will happen after I've done the writing. Talk about getting way ahead of myself.

I also worry that my time is passing me by. I've put in almost no work at all, nor have I for many years. Even when I was putting in some work, it wasn't as much as it should have been. There are exceptions to everything, but I would imagine that most authors write several books before one ever gets published. Perhaps I'll be one of the fortunate few, but I doubt it. I'm only waisting time by not writing.

I just can't stand the idea of writing something shitty, but that's exactly what has to happen. I have to give myself permission to write shitty for awhile, and really mean it. But that's the thing, I don't mean it yet. Why I can't just let loose and write the really shitty shit, I don't know. I'm still working on that. There's a reason and I'm eventually going to figure it out. Hopefully it's something that is easy to remedy.

Now maybe that I've gotten this out there I can start writing.