On this Thing Called Writing (#2)

I will keep this short, but not so sweet--yes, something new for me. However, I think it is the most effective way to clear up a feeling that has gripped me these past two weeks. A sort of self-doubt, I guess. Or rather a sin I possess. Perhaps, conceit? I am not quite sure, that is why I am spitballing here. Whatever it is, I need to share it so that I can move on with my writing. 

Okay, now to the point. 

[EDIT: Sigh. I just wrote for the past forty minutes, describing my daydreaming as an addiction. Maybe the idea works, maybe it doesn't, but right now I don't care. At some point typing up those paragraphs, I realized this is not the time nor the way to talk about my daydreaming.

Also, I was getting away from the main point of tonight's blog post. 

(This is why I really need to stop procrastinating, and work on this stuff a little bit each day.)]

So, here it is. It is a milestone. In thirteen straight days, I wrote 26,451 words centering on a story that has been swirling in my mind for the past two years. I need to get it out. It is essential to my understanding of certain questions in my life right now. Unfortunately, the story is not going in the direction I had intended, nor in the style I want to use. There is plenty of stuff going on, some of it interesting, but I can't stand how I am delivering it. And, no, it is not because the current story is better, and I should let it play out, because I will discover a hidden gem.

That is not what is happening. Instead, I am just sucking at this thing called writing, because I have not really been doing it--writing that is--up until now.

I am usually a humble person, however, when it comes to writing, I figured I had a gift. I believed it so much, that I never bothered to practice it. Now, I am at a stage in my life, when all these ideas in my head need to come out in the open, so I can analyze them, dissect them, and share them with other people. Otherwise, I am going to break apart.

However, now that I am sitting down, and actually writing, on a daily basis, a particular story that my mind has been tossing about since just before this pandemic, my ego has taken a bit of a hit. Each day I realize just how much I suck at writing a story.   

If I don't write it down daily, it is going to break me; yet, every day I'm writing, I feel like I'm falling apart.

The old me would have stopped at this point. Actually, long before this milestone. 

The new me? I'm not quite sure.  

I guess there is only one way to find out. 

(At the very least, I owe my two main characters an opportunity to have their stories told.)