Today, the day that I have publicly proclaimed as the first official day of my life as a writer, I do not want to write.
I don’t mean that I cannot think of anything to write about. I don’t mean that I have writer’s block. I don’t even mean that I can’t get exactly what I feel onto the page and that it is frustrating. I have felt all of those things before at one time or another. Today, all I feel is resistance. My jaw is set against it. Yeah, I can feel my jaw tight and determined.
The logical part of my brain is pleading. I can feel that as well.
“It doesn’t have to be good!”
“It doesn’t have to change anyone’s life!”
“It doesn’t even have to be anything about Haiti, Nepal or the fact that you are blowing your life wide open!”
“Just get something down.”
But it is almost noon and I have cleaned the kitchen, finished some financial stuff that has been hanging over my head, I have made appointments and filled in more of my to do list. And all this was done with an undeniable air of defiance.
I am not your monkey.
And I don’t even know with whom I am fighting. Whose monkey am I not being exactly? There is no outside pressure on me to perform. I have no deadline pressures. I have no authority figure over me.
I am too new at this to know what to do with myself when I am actively and aggressively resisting something I want to do. How does one talk themselves down? And, seriously, what am I to do with the insolent child of myself, pouting with her ball in her arms, threatening to take it home?