I assume the last word of this post will be the final one I’ll ever write. That’s my approach. Next week, the last week of February, will be my one year anniversary of writing every day. I haven’t taken time off for family stuff. There’s been no crippling writer’s block. In fact, I have seven assignments due this week including what I’m giving to my buddy, The Drama Mama, to post on her site. Despite suffering from a social anxiety disorder that requires multiple medications, I’m not stressed about my art. In fact, it’s therapy.
I have an aggressive, if not somewhat sad, online presence. My twitter account has almost 33,000 tweets. I recently got back on the Facebook after a two year absence. My blog is will be two years old in May, and has over 400 posts. I also produce two columns a week for Sprocket Ink, one sports, the other politics. Yet, I’m happy with my writing. I don’t think it’s all good. I shudder when I hit publish, regardless if it’s 140 characters or 1,000 words. But, I like authoring.
I think, and I may be wrong, the reason why I’ve come to a good place with my writing is I accept myself as a writer, regardless of quality of post. As a teenager and early twenty-something, I thought I needed to be miserable to be a good writer. I idolized Ernest Hemingway and Hunter S. Thompson. I assumed some of their habits. Now, at 41 years old, I’ve learned that being happy –or at least content, because, hell, I’m never happy– is directly tied to quality writing.
The feedback I get is largely positive. I have readers who say my fiction is best, while others only comment on personal posts because they think my wife and 3 daughters are vastly more interesting that what’s in my complicated, weird mind. I just write. I write for myself. I write because I have to. It’s what needs to come out of me.
Occasionally, someone will ask me how I continue to post so much or come up with new fiction stories or be on the precipice of publishing a novel. My only coherent response is: “Dude, writing is my last ride. It’s all I have to leave.”
Anxiety ridden, punk rock listening, word nerd, music obsessed, robot-human hybrid husband, father, red velvet cake enthusiast, pumpkin pie expert and writer living with 4 women and not talking about Fight Club. You can find him on Twitter, Facebook, and writing on his blog, My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog.