My Everest

I feel like I am spinning my tires so much and getting nowhere like reinventing the wrong shaped wheel. I’ve tried different approaches, techniques, books, motivations, applications, FaceBook groups. I’ve asked other writers for the best way to find a mentor, accountability partners and their processes they have used for writing. I have read hours of articles, listened to all kinds of podcasts and done millions of exercises on time management, creative process, different writing skills and the craft itself.

I have all sorts of different books that were designed to help the lost writer but none have clicked with me. I have tried different creative endeavors like writing poetry, analyzing the process, collecting poems, participating in different poetry challenges, learned HTML and CSS, trying to learn Github and so on. Taking classes on coding, on programming. Participated in National Novel Writing Month and won both times resulting in two different Draft Zeroes that are now collecting dust.

I have developed a morning writing routine and I track my word count on a daily basis. Spent money on courses and attended live calls. Read other author’s books, although I need to admit that I read more than one at a time and if I can’t stand the book I abandon it somewhere between the first chapter and middle of the story. I have saved questions to ask myself as I read in the attempt to become a Reader who reads like a Writer would. I have developed a blog and host my own music prompt in the attempts of fulfilling my need to communicate through writing and sharing ideas. I have meditated and done daily yoga exercises.

I feel like I’ve tried so many things that haven’t been successful and hoping to run across a few things or methods or processes or even apps that may work. I get frustrated often and easily. I threaten to give up on myself only to wake up the next morning with the overwhelming desire to write again. I have tried to numb myself, to dampen the desire. To overwork and throw myself into other projects, anything to move beyond broken field, or land of Doesn’t Work. Makes me wonder often if I am supposed to be writing or am i pouring all this energy into another bad idea? Who am I fooling? Who would really be interested in what I have to say, how I perceive the world?

I am just a tiny Midwestern girl who transplanted herself to the Eastern Shore after nearly thirty years of sadness and loss. These thoughts and a sea more threaten to drown me where I lay every morning, noon and night. I think about the information that states that I suffered frontal brain damage at the hands of people who believed completely that “sticks and stones may break my bones, but names could never hurt me.”

Yet, I heave over crevasses trying to plan goals, plans and outcomes. Get lost and forget names even in the most familiar places. Take medicine on a daily basis so I could have a better quality of life. Separated from my children because of my own actions and values. Who am I to feel qualified to write and speak my truth? I cannot even “be a good mom” by society’s standards.
I know that I am beating myself up a bit here, but I need to expose these feelings, experiences so that I can move forward and obey an obsession that never stops burning. Now that I have said all this, who knows where life will take me? What is beyond this crevasse, this Everest?

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