As soon as I make a change in the tense of a verb, the lightning comes again. All doubt comes away so quickly but not into confidence but one of hope; of a feeling of following a tree-lined dirt trail curving through a dense wood and not a staircase to a castle. This writer’s path is not a staircase, and I believe it was folly to ever think it would be. One of the many reasons we love being artists is exactly because of our choice to tread the wooded trail and not to climb the marble staircase. To get off the path and get lose instead of ascending the clean, bright steps.
I read a little more. I get some ideas. It comes to me. I feel them form like droplets running down a window, making trails to connect with others to form faster, thicker trails. It’s all picking up speed, taking on mass.
I wrote five chapters. This day has taught me that if I plow through, I can get this done. Just get this done. Don’t worry about the condition of it, just get it done! I can do this!
To take it to that next level. That’s been my MO for eighteen years now. It’s not about getting to perfect, it’s about growing and learning and getting better. I forgive myself for my perfectionist streak. Most of the time, we as humans have good intentions but get confused and forget. Forgiveness means understanding this in everyone, including ourselves.
Creat and Complete