Quitting time

I realize it would be pretty damned stupid to let one little technical glitch loom unrealistically large in my life, to fall down and die over a stubbed toe, but this is only the most recent in a long chain of roadblocks, slings and arrows.

Every time I try to write, something happens to prevent anything from getting done.

External issues or internal turmoil, I just can't seem to make it happen.

So, this leaves me with two options.

A: Give up.

Accept that this is a foolish pipe dream born out of a mid-life crisis.

Box up King, Lamott, Maas, Bell, Rhodes, Strunk and White and all the rest.

Create a folder on the hard drive labeled "Archive - Writing" and dump everything into it.

Tell myself that none of it was any good, anyway, that I never really had a realistic chance of success.

Tell myself that I'm just too busy right now.

Tell myself that I'll write again someday - maybe when my kids grow up, or when my wife goes back to work, or when I retire.

Try not to think about the cold whisper behind all of these - "never again".

B: Keep going.

Deny that this is a foolish pipe dream born out of a mid-life crisis, but is instead a trembling little flower of creativity, clinging tenaciously to the hard, cold granite of my overly analytical life.

Re-read King, Lamott, Maas, Bell, Rhodes, Strunk and White and all the rest, and start reading books on motivation and emotion to go along with the craft and technique. I'm not going to be able to think my way out of this. It's time I stopped trying.

Look through the folders already on the hard drive "Writing projects" and follow one of those paths I started down.

Remind myself that some of it is good. Not all of it, not yet, but realize that my chance of success is just as realistic as anyone else's.

Accept that I'm busy, and demand the right to write.

Tell myself that I'll write EVERYday - so that maybe when my kids grow up, or when my wife goes back to work, or when I retire, I'll be able to look back at the stories and books I wrote.

Hear the cold whisper, trying to get me to stop. Face the darkness, and whisper back, "No, I will not stop. You cannot make me.".

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