My relationship with writing is one of need, abuse, love, neglect, and redemption. Dramatic, I know. But it is not something I always love to do. In fact sometimes I hate it. Sitting in that chair in front of a blank screen, alone with my feelings, alone with that ache that I need to express something but knowing that words are so damn limiting, can be agonizing. The self doubt, the self will, all of the garbage that creeps up with writing is nothing short of a battle. My fears, my ego, my pride, my identity, all come to the table with different expectations when the truth is, my best stuff comes when I let go of any expectation at all. And to think, this whole time, my writing life could be teaching me about life in general. The best stuff truly does come when I let go. If I get my feelings hurt I now ask myself if I had an expectation. What was my part? And it doesn't mean I'm not allowed to be disappointed or hurt, but it allows me to let go of developing resentments when I can see my contribution. Right now, I am beginning to see my contribution to a life that has not met my expectations, a writing life that has fallen very short of my intended dreams. I beat myself up, I run away, I tell myself this blog, my memoir, my short stories are all for naught. I think I will never catch that big fish. I think, Fuck Hemingway. Then I breathe... I think Keep it Simple. Maybe I don't have to come up with a book. Maybe for today, I can come up with 100 words. Maybe I can write something just for fun, just to exercise my fingers. Maybe I can write a blog post and that can be enough for today. Maybe I don't need to catch a big fish at all, but instead enjoy wading around in the water.