Writing Challenge

Write Something Seems to be the Only Mantra Working for me These Days

Most days it’s melancholy with a side of malaise

Sherry McGuinn posted another challenge piece a couple of days ago which in my opinion, accurately portrays what a shit ton of us are experiencing at the moment:

In it, Sherry posed a question and the way I read it the question sure as hell wasn’t rhetorical, so I’m going to speak my piece about this mantra thing. What’s my mantra, Sherry? I’ve already tried all the mantras.

Every.Single.Freaking.One.Of.Them.

Just like you Sherry I’ve not ever caught a break. But, I’ve kept the upper lip stiff, I’ve written like no one was reading. And from the looks of things that evidently is the case. Anyway, I’ve continued to put my writing nose to the grindstone. I’ve put one foot in front of the other and had the blinders on. Hell, I’ve even started each day with gratitude in my heart.

And the only manta that seems to be working for me at the moment, is a two-word mantra which causes me to nod my head wearily and gets my butt in a chair in front of a white screen and a blinking cursor.

Write something.

I tell myself to go write something. Ignore the fact my stats are down. Don’t concentrate on how much money I’m making or not making. Hell, most everyone here is making more money than I am. Forget about curation because I haven’t had a single piece curated since April of the year. Forget about the fact I’ve published three books and don’t have the time or the money to give them the promotion they deserve.

Fuck all that and go write something.

Write something.

Write when I feel like shit because I’ve been playing the long game and carrying on each day like a lunatic, writing, and posting, day after fucking day, after fucking day, expecting different results. And never getting them. Write through the pain, the anger, the frustration, and the goddamned tears. Write as I grit my teeth watching as a piece I thought was pretty good, starts off well, and then falls flat on its ass and dies a quick death.

Write something

Because it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. It’s what I was born to do, that sometimes I believe my soul was created for, to write. When I stop to think about it, any other by-products of my writing whether it be a shit ton of readers (or none), a reasonable amount of money (again or none), a sweet publishing deal (yeah, like that’s going to happen), and overall acceptance of my efforts should they one day materialize, all spring from the same source. My writing.

Write something.

When I’ve put so much of myself in my writing and then divest a bit of that soul each time I write, the words I’ve written and the words I will write become me, my entire life, the world I live in. For some of us, we often let work define us. My writing not only defines me. It is me. It’s like you said, Sherry. I as well, and I’m pretty sure a lot of other creatives here, have grown accustomed to rejection, and although it stings like a son-of-a-bitch, I’ve spent years learning to expect it when it comes.

Because it always comes, and when it does, the only thing that keeps me going is to write something.

Write something.

It’s the only way I know how to cope with all the extraneous bullshit going on outside the four walls of my house. If I ever stop focusing on consistent production I know I’ll simply wither into nothing but a pile of dust that will scatter from the downdraft of the ceiling fan in my office. I need to write. I must write to keep my mind off of everything happening to the world, our country, and all the people who get sick and die each day. I have to write for fear of putting the pen down and never picking it up again.

Write something.

So, you know I love ya Sherry and hopefully, you won’t mind If I peel away for a bit. I really need to go write something.

Thank you so much for reading. You didn’t have to, but I’m certainly glad you did.

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