Don't be hatin' on my breakfast beverage...

This morning, over a breakfast of tomato juice and gluten free crackers, I had a little talk with myself.

*Side note*
I pretty much love tomato and or vegetable juice for breakfast. And I love to drink said juice in fancy glasses. My kids are aware of this fact and gift me with fancy glasses every Christmas. This latest one being from Miss Jamie. Thanks J.

During our little talk I asked myself this question, "Self why are you looking at blogs right now instead of writing. Furthermore self, why have you avoided writing for months? Why self? Why?"

Some time ago I read an article about procrastination, which stated that there is always something behind our putting things off. The article listed examples of why we might put things off and as I read it I realized that I put off writing because I don't want to find out that I actually stink at it. I don't want to find out that I can't do it.

On the flip side of that, I'm quite certain that I can. We humans are such manic little creatures. I can write. My writer's group all but threw flowers at me the last time I shared one of my works with them and told me I'd better finish it because they must know what happens. Marlee tells me everyday, "Mom the world needs good writers. Please write your book." And yet...

Yes--sadly, ridiculously--there is still a yet. Yet I look at my writing in disbelief. "How could these words have come from me?" I wonder. "Surely they were a fluke. I can't possibly have anything more."

So I procrastinate. I let days, weeks, months pass by while I walk around tied up in knots (because if we're not true to our gifts, we can't help but feel tied up). And I wait. Wait for what? I don't know. I've already received conformation that I should do this. I've already had a perfect moment of clarity when I learned exactly what I should write--complete with a title, and you know I hate coming up with titles (I wrote the experience in my journal because I knew my doubt would try to cast it away) and I make myself freakin sob each morning as the story rolls through my brain (I tend to write things that make people cry. why? No idea.) So why not just sit down and write it already?

I'm scared. That's why.

P.S.
In a recent writer's meeting it was said that once you know the rules of writing you can break them, at which time I confessed that I break all of the rules on my blog. I am therefore aware that, if based solely upon this blog, you may think me a horrible writer. I am sorry. But not really. Because this writing is easy. And it doesn't scare me. So the end.