For the longest time (months, years even), I have struggled with my writing. I have had a hard time picking up the pen or typing on the keys. I have felt my writing is, quite frankly, utter shit.

I have constantly been comparing myself to other writers. Whether it’s not writing as prolifically as others or thinking their work is better, I just seem to have been measuring myself to everyone else. And I’ve been doing it for a long time.

I’ve also been making ridiculous, unattainable, unrealistic goals. Like, I have to write 5 books and 20 short stories, no excuses, by the time I’m 40 (which is only a few years off). Why? Because apparently that would make me a *real* writer/author. *That* would make me as successful and comparable to other authors.

You can kinda see where this makes you become miserable as a writer. The other day I realized, guess what? Somewhere along the lines here, writing stopped being fun. It started to become a chore and work. And I already write and edit for my day job so I definitely don’t want to feel that way about my personal life.

Because writing…writing is my soul. I am meant to write. I am meant to tell stories. I’ve always known it.

So when that stops being fun. Well, that’s a problem.

I told M about this and he agreed completely and said he saw this in me. So the other day I just said “F it,” and I just went for it. And I ended up writing about 3500 words to my sci-fi crime drama. And you know what? It felt amazing. I had fun. I didn’t care. I just wrote my story and I loved it.

And I still feel that way. I’m just going for it. I’m gonna write when I want to. I don’t care what so-and-so is doing or how many books and stories whoever put out, or how whatshername’s book is doing on Amazon. I’m going to write my stories.

And I’m gonna publish my stories and books when I’m good and ready and I know people will like them because I believe in them. And I believe in me.

-J