Dusty down there…

I haven’t done a flash fiction in a few days. I’m not too sure why. Well, that’s not true. The truth is that I’ve been gaming again and essentially lying to myself about my writing goals. When I do a story, I try to write as well as I can. I enjoy the challenge. I take it seriously. But in taking it seriously, the writing requires more from me than just a passing fancy. I have to sit down and think things out. I have to find plots that are meaningful to me so that they aren’t shallow and dry.

My well is a bit dry right now, but it’s not for lack of water. I haven’t been putting my time in on the pump.

It’s incredible how easy it is to let something slip away, how fast you can fall out of a routine. My mind has been running the mantra of “you can’t serve two master” quite a bit lately, and it’s true. I try to lie to myself and say that I can, but I can’t. If I don’t deliberately pull my attention from whatever is around me and sit down and focus, I won’t write. I can’t write. It’s more than just words.

The really interesting thing is, the other crap I spend my time on isn’t even that enjoyable. It’s just easy. It’s safe. Playing games, reading, watching a movie, dicking around on the internet, all of those things are safe and free from the option of failure. Here, I have to face my fears of failure. Here, I have to come to terms with the fact that I’m not hot shit no matter what my ego tries to get me to believe. Here, I’m just a guy at a keyboard. No more, no less.

And then on top of that, I love writing. I always have, yet I always shy away from it. It’s a strange, strange experience to go through. I guess it’s part of our nature. Given that our bodies are mostly water, the path of least resistance just seems obvious. That last line is complete bullshit, but it sounded cool for a second.

Man up, Shawn. Man the pump.

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