I tried writing a blog. I tried and tried and tried. All I got was some stream of
consciousness stuff that was starting to annoy me. I imagined people reading it and thinking, “What is this guy talking about? This doesn’t help me a bit.”
Of course, it may not be a good idea to imagine people reading it. Usually I only care if my Muse reads it. After all, she helps me write it. I hope she gives me a good idea, because now I’m tired.
I feel blocked. Stuck. My writing feels self-indulgent. That’s the critic’s voice in my head that I often hear. It says things like this:
“You only care about yourself!”
“You’re selfish, self-centered and self-absorbed!”
“Why don’t you write about something more relevant to others?”
“Why is everything about you?
This is an interesting trick the Enemy is pulling. Since it can’t dissuade me from writing, it’s stopped trying. Now it simply tells me that my writing is no good. It’s worse than no good; it narcissistic. Maybe that’s true, but what can I do? I don’t know what I’m supposed be writing at the moment. That doesn’t matter either. I just keep writing.
Here are some of the worst things about being stuck as a writer:
· The frustration of doing your work, but feeling like your work is terrible
· The fear that it will always be this way
· The amount of time lost
· The feeling that the Muse has left.
Honestly, I think the real issue is that I’m just tired. It’s 1:40 in the morning and I should be asleep. I think that’s the message my Muse is trying to give me. That’s why she seems to be absent. She’s waiting to talk to me in bed. She wants me to Get Started and Keep Going, not here on the printed pages, but through my dreams. My Muse may be an angel, but I’m not. I need my sleep.