Press on, yield pen

I run the risk of sounding boringly basic and amateurish. However, might as well pen some typical questions that  peck away at me (or should).

Am I writing? 
Am I writing consistently? 
Am I sharing it?
Can I commit to a writing schedule? 
Do I need to change my writing space/time/habits?
Do I have a goal this week? This month? 2013 goals? Am I on track? 
Do I feel satisfied or proud or discontent or frustrated with my work?
Is my voice authentic?  What is missing in my writing?
What does my attitude lack? Better yet: What the hell is WRONG with my attitude?
Where am I with the last piece I wrote? Is it complete or does it need rewrites? 
Should I take a class? What class? 
Should I try a contest? 
Do I want to start a blog? Am I keeping up my blog?

I could go on!

Last year, asking myself the FIRST question (over and over again), I was petulant. I beat myself up because I wouldn't write. More accurately, I refused to write. It's not worth going into the whys because that is old. Dull. Whiny. This year it's about forcing answers from myself by taking action. I have to, want to, need to be accountable. For real. Realizing that my only audience, me, was so over the baseless and silly sulking, I decided to get a grip and change my attitude. I'm talking about years of crappy attitude, being small-hearted, fearful and frozen. I was running away from work, from words. No one noticed or cared. Our insecurities are self-inflicted. Worst of all, they are long monotonous moans. No one is captivated.

I am shutting down the drama fest. I quit bleating. Don't have to be brave, I just pick up a pen. It is that simple. Blather, I do. Awkward and aimless, I can be. Feeble, I feel. But it is a start. Don't have to be bold and brazen, I just have to write and not bitch. Even long blank-page-staring is very acceptable; it is good noble suffering. Feeble words and sentences make me cringe but I'll figure out their stamina. Angst filled, I stumble down this writer path that may never lead to an arena. I'll bleed. I'll scar. But it beats the useless, senseless writhing and moaning into the void. Press on, yield pen. Finally.
@thewriterpath.