Every few months, I have a meltdown.
This month’s meltdown lasted about a month. You might have noticed the posting frequency on Marshallogue came to a grinding halt. Even when I’ve published, it’s been more sporadic than it’s ever before.
I assumed it was because I ran out of time during the day or because I just needed a bit of a break. That wasn’t accurate at all.
The real problem has been that I continue to write myself into a corner. I begin a post only to realize that I don’t have enough information to complete it. I write a headline I like, the way most of my posts start, and then I realize I can’t deliver on its promise.
I stop publishing. My archive of drafts grows. That’s discouraging, so I eventually stop writing and assume it’s because I don’t have enough time.
The problem, I think, is that I get too serious.
On one hand, it’s good to take things seriously, to do my best and all. On the other hand, though, it kills my creativity. Really, it kills the whole thing, the desire to create at all.
When I sit down to write here, I need to just sit down and write, not edit. Marshallogue isn’t a place for good writing. It’s a place for my writing. I don’t have any problem speaking. Why do I have trouble writing? I should write how I speak, off the top of my head, not so serious.
