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I Felt Like Quitting Writing Today
I felt like quitting writing today.
The existential waves of questioning of what I was doing and whether I could even call myself a writer lapped violently against the seawalls of my mind as I struggled to find reasons to stand against this storm.
Do my written words even matter?
I have a speck of time on this earth, and I spend countless hours of it pouring piles of words onto a page then molesting the pile with conforming eyes before sending the prettied package into the digital ether hoping something good comes back to me.
But what good am I hoping for?
Well, if I’m being honest, and it seems there’s really no other way to have any hope at success as a writer than honesty, today I only wanted money.
I wanted to put my words in just the right order that they’d get people’s blood pumping just enough to read on with gusto and share with others.
For what?
The problem is when I write like this is that I feel no gusto at all. I don’t really care about my writing. Nor do I care if someone tells me I’m a good writer anymore. I don’t even know if that’s true anyway. The writing that I want to do doesn’t get read while the writing I…
