That Double Edged Sword of Expectations

Writing used to come so naturally to me when I was in school. I rarely had what you might call “a block” I was always working on something – mostly on my own, sometimes with friends. Sometimes illustrating our ideas. I edited and revised in what seemed like a natural, innate process. I didn’t have the fear.

Why so? Because while I took my writing very seriously, I did not yet have that pressure to publish. That pressure has been building up as the years past and I had reached that quagmire of age where I had always kind of assumed I would be published by. Starting with my late twenties, the pressure began building and intensified into a colossal tornado at 30. It  let off a bit since I had some good stories in hand I was working on and believed in, but built up again as the process took longer than I thought it would.

I guess my expectations were always the bane of me. And yet without expectations, there would be no drive to crank it up to the next level.

At this point the writing must start working to feed itself, just like I must work to feed myself and my family. I.e. in order for the writing to not sinkhole into submission to an all-encompassing full time job which will leave so little time for writing (which would result in the writing being a sub hobby that will take forever to develop) – the writing needs to become self-sustaining.

All that is great, but I don’t have time to fool around. I need to start proving to myself and to others that this can be fruitful and sustainable. This demands, yes – hope. And faith. But first and foremost the ability to kick myself in the ass and start working.

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