Writing Other Things.

I've been trying to write other things. Start working some short stories or even a novel. Focusing on this blog, writing diligently if not greatly, has given me a boost of confidence in my ability to work on something long term and be committed to writing as a life practice if not a career. When i finish here, working on this blog, i have been getting a sense of deep impatience. Like i need to go further. Its the same feeling after a particularly great bike ride or intense soccer game. The feeling, the high, the adrenaline, the intensity--i want to keep it going because there is always a fear that the flame will snuff out and i will loose "it" permanently.

The real danger here, for me, is elevated expectations of my writing ability. It is one thing to write, here, this blog, the things i am writing are true and real and candid. It is another entirely to start working on a work of fiction. I try to be very conscious of separating myself and my family from my writing, an effort to protect them to some degree, i imagine, and perhaps there are things i don't want to discover or i don't want characters, based on the image of members of my family, to turn out horribly, i don't know, but i try to distance my family from my writing. As a consequence i try to distance myself as well. The result is shallow writing. I'm too far removed and suddenly the scenario and the people and the actions are wooden and dead.

Most successful writers say that their is a bit of themselves in the writing. I read at some point, i think it was in a Hemmingway book that the characters of his writings were each a cross section of himself and that was true for most writers. There is no way of fully separating the writing from the writer.

Sitting here in the morning, lights are dark and my coffee is hot, it is much, much easier to write about me--my thoughts, struggles, impressions, etc.--than it is to switch over and begin working on a piece of fiction. I am afraid to implant myself in my fiction, to take risks that leave me vulnerable and exposed. I have these fears for works that don't yet exist and that may never be seen. The consequence of my fear is a failure to write anything with sustenance or staying power and a deep seated feeling of failure and disappointment.

There is a writing schedule posted: "blog 5:30 - 6:00, other writing 6:00 - 7:00". After that, if there is work to be done, i have to get ready and face the day. So far my other writing is a dismal failure. Yesterday i wrote for about 20 minutes and deleted it all and spent the rest of my time, periodically, surfing the web and staring at the blank ms word page. The cursor flashing, flashing, flashing in time. The session degenerated into me delivering a long rant at myself, my laziness, and my pathetic attempts at writing. It has been deleted.

It is still early in my writing process, i have time to make adjustments and figure out what works, but i want immediate results. Perhaps I'll try writing in a notebook instead of on the computer, perhaps I'll give the computer another try. Perhaps I'll quit, because going forward means eventually being vulnerable, and i don't like feeling exposed.

I don't want to quit. So I'm going to try very hard to write other things too.