A Short Testament

And here’s a testament of yesterday’s idea concerning discipline. I was hoping to finish out the trinity tonight, but an intermission is demanded by the powers that be. So, for all of the zero of you that were really hoping to read about my philosophy of self-belief and affirmations and all of that wuwu shit tonight, I’m sorry. I guess. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow.

For now, I’m just putting my head down and writing. I could not go to sleep tonight without getting some ideas on digital paper through words. This is the discipline. One letter at a time.

Often it feels like I am no closer to being a professional writer than I was one year ago. But the evidence points in another direction. Over 200 blog posts, an ebook, 60,000 words of a novel, marketing case studies written, interviews. Sure, none it means a damn monetarily. But if I were writing solely for money I would have figured out how to write a Danielle Steel romance novel or a fart-joke sitcom with a fat husband.

The thing is I am closer. Who can say what percentage, but I do know that if I stopped, I would lose all momentum and atrophy would turn to entropy. I would lose the battle.

It’s like the terrible knots I have in my shoulders. I have put them off for years and now, well it’s horrible. But no more. I am disciplined to take care of them. And it’s not fun, no pun intended. Hours of nerve shattering, elbow digging, sweat-inducing massage and they’re still there. I could give up but the problem would remain.

Same with writing. I could stop, say it took too much time, I wasn’t good at it, nobody read what I wrote and I made no money. But the problem of my desire to be a writer wouldn’t go away. Problems that go away on their own aren’t actually problems and therefore they hold no opportunity.

A real problem itches the inside of your head. The only way to scratch it is by doing. Go on, scratch away.