My writing muscle is a bit weak these days. Much like working out my abs or God-forbid my butt, it’s a use-it-or-lose it scenario. I have found that the less I write, the less I am able to think, or get words out of my head in a conversation. But how is this even possible?
With a quick glance of my past posts, the last time I actually attempted any creativity with a keyboard was well over a year ago. So if my writing were my ass cheeks or abs, you would be looking at nothing but cellulite and dimples in helevetica 8 form right now.
I remember the very night I started this blog. I had absolutely no idea how to use WordPress, work my way around the dashboard, much less upload anything to anywhere. After the first five hour evening, which felt longer than an entire season of Mad Men, I wanted to hunt down the creator of WordPress and toss a flaming bag of dog poop on his front porch.
But I am a “doer” and not a quitter, so I persevered, and finally after a day and a half of struggling and retracing my keystrokes like a kindgardner in her first fingerpainting class, I posted my first “story” and waited for signs of “views.” After several hours went by, it was still just me and the crickets — a whole lot of silence and chirpping, but no views.
I tossed and turned as I tried to fall asleep that night, wondering why no one had read my cute little story. Was it bad? Was it too long? Too short? Silly? Dumb? Irrelevant? Thank God the Sand Man eventually kicked my butt and I got some sleep — at least until I had to get up to go to the bathroom three times!
I woke up refreshed and ready to take on my laptop whether anyone cared to read my thoughts or not. While counting sheep I realized that the only way I would be able to write an honest thought was if I were to write for myself rather than the hypothetical cyber audience whose validation I was craving.
So here I sit today with my computer perched on my lap, relaxed and ready to craft something inspirational, and the only thing I can think about are the sheep I counted the very first night I started this blog. I guess I’ll have to hope for an honest thought perhaps tomorrow or the next day, or maybe even the next. At least I now know it doesn’t matter when I write, what matters is that I write something, sometime. Tonight, my fingers are willing but my brain cells say, “Sleep!” and right now, my brain cells are not winning!
by: Shelli Wilder Netko