I keep telling myself that I’m going to write more–then I stare at the screen as it mocks me.
There are always those little white lies we tell ourselves to make us think we’re going to make progress. I’m going to eat less, work out more. I’m going to finish the next Great American Novel. I’m going to learn a new language. It’s always something.
There are a few people who can actually accomplish these things with little to no effort. They just decide they’re going to do something, and they do it. For myself and many others that I know, it’s not that easy.
Sometimes I have to force myself to write (or draw, or paint, or sculpt, or stay awake all day on a Sunday), and sometimes it comes naturally. I didn’t want to work out this morning, but I did for a few minutes. I even did a little “dancing badly” workout. Now I’m going to force myself to defeat another untruth.
I have the morning off today. I am going to make myself write something. I’m hoping it will be progress on my novel. Maybe it will be poetry, or a short story. I just have to do it. I can’t keep lying to myself like this.