Absence

I haven't written in a long time. At all. Not on my blog nor in general. Which is kind of painful for me to admit, because writing is really the thing I love. Or is it? Sometimes I think its just something that others have always told me that I'm good at, but not something I necessarily BELIEVE I have any right to do. 

"Oh I left my job and now I'm just writing," I tell the high school peers I run into in the park over the weekend. They're fascinated. They think that's so exciting of me. I think I'm just a total fraud. I know I haven't written anything worth being published, nor do I have the confidence to even attempt to get published.

I'm basically fucked.

An author I once worked with said that ideas are pretty much worth shit. Writing is all about the actual act of sitting down and typing. Which is why I can hardly claim to be a writer. Sure, the little bit of writing I do is fairly good. I imagine that if I keep going, with all the plans I have on where I want my story to go, I could have a pretty fucking awesome book. But I'm stuck on page three, not ready to go beyond because I'm afraid to be disappointed in what I actually leave on the paper. If I don't write it down, it exists only as this fabulous idea in my head. 

Which is shit. 

Sometimes working in publishing I would get annoyed. "I could write this book so much better!" I would whine about a bestselling chick lit novel. And maybe I could, hell I know I could... but I don't. That's the key. The difference between someone like me, who honestly does have the talent to write and the women writing some of the stupidest girl about town novels is that they actually sit down to type. All I do is complain that they suck.

I really need to start writing again. If only to show my parents that paying off my student loans is totally worth their hard earned money.