I use to stare at the blank page trying to force the creativity out. Putting words on paper that can evoke emotions is more difficult than I realized. When I first starting writing I didn’t have any patience. I put the basic information into a program and Voila! A writer is born, or so I thought. I realized it takes time, practice and a lot of effort to even form a complete sentence.
My first story I wrote was even cringe-worthy to me and I immediately tossed it in the trash and myself on the bed to self-loathe. The table for one pity party was a constant dinner for about a week. I refused to open my laptop or even pick up a pen. Then one day after making dinner I remembered an idea that I had a year ago and slowly but surely I have been adding words to a page, building characters that I would love to meet, and a fictional situation with a touch of truth that I have even taken the time to research.
It was never me not being able to write. It was me not having the patience with myself to write. Now, I let the story grow and nothing is to be satisfied by instant gratification. I am now proud of my words because I took time to stare at the blank page and allow the subject the time to grow.
This really isn’t a short story but more of some truth about me. I can be a very impatient person. Having a busy schedule with kids, work, and my personal interests, sometimes it seems there isn’t an end in sight. The anxiety I have doesn’t help and the thought of being a failure can add to the tension. I’m learning and that’s all I can strive for.