On Writing

I have recently joined, if one can call it that, a writer’s guild. It is rather an exalted title for what, in reality, is an eclectic collection of people on Facebook who have agreed to write, to typewriter-1024x1017encourage one another in our writing, and to respond with helpful critique to the writings that we offer.  For some it is a spur to greater creative activity. For me, it is a discipline I’ve chosen to impose upon myself.

Writing, you see, is not something that comes especially difficult for me. I don’t usually struggle to write,  that is, when I decide to write.  That decision point is really the challenge.

Give me a topic, any topic, and I can throw together words about it that are coherent and at least mildly entertaining, or at least not devastatingly dull.  Call it a gift, the gift of gab, or of know-it-all-ism, I am unsure which would be the better moniker for it. I am sure that I have it.

What I lack, however, is the discipline.  The iron will to write something whether I feel to write or not. To compose even on those days and in those moments when I would rather do something else.

Like sleep.

Nevertheless, I have committed myself. Perhaps this commitment will aide me.  Perhaps it will stir me from the haze of complacent over-thinking of every post and enjoin me to simply write whatever the result may be – whether good or bad.

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