Writer's Clock

Trying to figure out what to say can be difficult at times.

You wouldn't believe how many books there are on writer's block. My problem is not necessarily having lack of ideas to write. It is a question of having time to concentrate. I have the house to myself this morning, so there is no better time.

I worry about accessibility most of all. Sure, I can write whatever I want, but is the average reader interested? I have published a few pieces for The Mighty, but these seemingly significant pieces get little attention among the barrage of list, click-baity articles promoted by so many.

My life is not a list. I do not fit neatly into numbered things. I cannot spew what you want to hear. Seven things people with anxiety don't want you to say. Ten things suicidal people want you to know. I cannot tailor my reality to these confines: does this necessitate that as an author I should be a failure? Because I don't fit into a precise little recipe?

I pray that the answer is no.

I am afraid of many things. Yes, spiders and left turns and raw chicken have their place. It is amusing in a way. I try to be like my father in that I never miss the opportunity to laugh at myself. But there are more serious issues at hand. Sure, everyone on my friend list on Facebook knows that I'm a little nuts. But am I afraid to share my maladies in a broader sense? Am I afraid of having a captive audience?

Well, yes. I alternate between the desperate "pay attention to MEEEEEEEE," and the thought that some troll might actually come across my page and attack me for being myself. Could I handle it? Sure I could, but it might prove taxing on the psyche.

Part of obsessive compulsive disorder is being terrified of the "what ifs" in life.

What if I turn left instead of right and end up in an accident? What if something I say negatively impacts my daughter's view of the world or self esteem? The issue of personal potential for success often comes up in these thoughts. What if I actually go viral with an article someday but am never able to repeat the feat? I am both dazzled by possibility and terrified of it.

I see other writers, especially humorists, and I see their success. I know I am capable of doing a consistent, quality level of work. But if you are screaming into the void, what exactly is the point?

Well this morning, unexpectedly, the void bit back. A humor site shared one of my posts and I received a page like from a random individual. It seems small, but it's a start. It's a reminder that there is some kind of an audience, I just need to hone my skills and be consistent about posting.

My work schedule has proved a detriment to the writing as well. I work until very late most nights and when I get home I feel like eating and passing out. I then have to get up early in the morning to get my daughter to school. Yet, I really have no excuse for not writing. After all, who needs sleep?

The answer? Bipolar people. I really am an idiot. I love the idea of being awake all the time and accomplishing things. But I cannot risk going off the deep end because of lack of sleep. In that spirit, I'm nuking a large cup of coffee before I take a nap. Because I am nothing if not contradictory. And ultimately indecisive.

Then I'm either going to buy an ad for the Facebook page and attempt to network, or fall into the sweet caress of sleep. Because I have problems differentiating what I need from what I want.