People say it’s easy to make excuses.
I disagree. It’s bloody hard!
In the last two or so weeks I’ve missed, skipped, and bowed out of half a dozen things. Mainly things I would’ve enjoyed, too. Life has just gotten in the way – an illness in the family, money stress, double-booking myself, final assessment pieces coming up for school. I know they’re all valid excuses, but I’ve skipped so many things that I almost feel like they’re not.
I also find these excuses popping up for writing… Too much noise, half-baked idea, other things need doing more, too emotional right now, the list goes on. I’m good at excuses.
I keep having to remind myself that writers write, and that one poem or paragraph or blog a week does not a writer make. Life doesn’t ever stop and shuffle off to the side to make room for me to write comfortably. Most of the time it is a necessarily uncomfortable process.
Enough excuses. I’m going to go write.
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