Twelve posts in September, five in October, three in November and ONE in December, if I hurry and post this.
This dismal blogging record is just a symptom of a larger problem that thankfully I addressed in therapy this week! (Thank you, Joanie T., for being so wise.)
My writing inertia is actually the topic of most of my sessions but Tuesday’s session was pivotal in that I finally *got* why I’m so blocked.
First, my working life to this point has been defined by the external. Almost all of my self-confidence came from the recognition I got for my work and for being such a “hard worker.” A writing life does not afford this type of recognition. Writers go for long periods without feedback, except for those nasty little rejection slips.
Second, I haven’t made a commitment to a writing life. I’ve been all talk and no action. Joanie used the word “random” to describe my writing habits. She’s brilliant because that’s exactly what the past three months have been like. I’ve let work (my day job) encroach on my Monday and Friday writing days. I’ve procrastinated by doing laundry, cleaning the cat box and other chores that could and should wait for the weekend when my spouse can help me.
My analysis: on a subconscious level, I’ve not committed to a writing life so that when/if I fail, I haven’t invested so much of myself in the effort. FEAR has stopped me from living the life I’m meant to lead.
My square, Type A personality is not responding well to the lack of structure, either. I have an office that I rent for my day job. I have a space to go to -- but I haven’t made it a writer’s space. My goal is to equip it with a comfy chair, a rug, a bookshelf for my lovely books, my intention board, fresh flowers, candles and personal items.
The greatest gift I can give myself this holiday season is to own the mantle of writer.