Recently, while with a friend, I lamented the fact that I have no discipline (a common topic on this blog!) to write anymore. I want it back. But what do I do about it? Nothing. It’s easier to wait for inspiration to strike. When it never does, we can blame it on our muse taking a break, or anything but ourselves. It’s easier. It’s easier to blame someone than to admit your mistake, your wrong, to admit your guilt and apologize to yourself for being such a slacker and disappointment to no one but yourself. That’s probably the worst person to disappoint. It affects everything, at least it does me. If I disappoint myself, I eventually project this disappointment onto someone else, not that I become disappointed with them but rather that I assume they are with me. That’s not fair to either party. It’s not worth it. Not for me anyway. Not anymore.
So what did this friend do when I told him that? He handed me a pen and a piece of paper and told me to write. He did more for my discipline than I’ve done in months. As he meandered the bookstore, I sat with a blank paper that awaited my ideas, my words. It was a blank slate, a new beginning. I could make it into anything I wanted if only I tried.
The ideas started to flow then. After an hour, I ended up with a mind map for a new novel that I had actually thought of because of that same friend. He had said, “Who would ever do hallucinogens if they had dreams like that.” The rest is history.
To that friend, thank you. Thank you for being the kick in the butt that I needed. Thank you for that simple gesture of handing me a pen and paper and telling me to write because now I think I can. To myself, I’m sorry for disappointing you. It’s my fault. I’ll try not to do it again. Promise.