Grah!

I tried to post for over an hour yesterday. Then gave up. It was a deep, meaningful, solve all the world's problems type post, but alas, ye shall never see it now.

Ok, so it wasn't really *that* deep. It was pretty much just me whining about how I have these depressed weeks every now and again. Then I went out and had coffee with friends and laughed and now I'm all better.

Except there is one part of it that's still bugging me. I'm a writer. I love to write stories. There are stories that pop into my head sometimes three times a say. But I never write them. When I get to type something--anything--I get all excited and jittery. However, when I actually have time to try and record all these fabulous stories in my head, I freeze up. Nothing comes out. And it's devastating. I want nothing more than to be able to finish a story, slap my name on it and call it a manuscript.

But then what? I'm a bad enough critic of myself. What would happen if I took my precious little baby manuscript out into the real world and tried to sell it? What if I ended up with nothing but a bunch of big old "form" rejection letters? Worse yet, what if I did sell and ended up with a bunch of reviewers saying that all I sold was a big ol' load of crap? I don't think my psyche could handle that.

So, I write on my blog. And I make notes about the stories I've started and the ones that might make a good story someday. And I hope that there comes a day again where my writing comes as naturally to me as breathing. A day where I'm comfortable enough with my ability that I can submit it, taking the rejections as what they are--all part of the craft--and maybe one day holding a book in my hand that has my name on it.