A writers salvation

Second day in a row that I don’t give a rats as s about writing this blog or  anything else for that matter. That’s a complete and utter lie. as the days go by and less work is done on the play the more depressed I become . I care more than ever about its impending inception. It tortures me.
I’m living inside my head and its one of the loneliest places a person can be. isn’t this the place where the true writer resides? Its A prison and a home.a shelter and a hell.  At times when the inspiration has dried up and the words have been lost it becomes a bottomless pit of self loathing and despair.
For me right at this moment there’s nothing here besides doubt and decay. no quiet soft place for me to lay my soul.and no damn keyboard to type on. And yet I could never leave this place unless its with finished manuscript. I have promised myself this. My only exit.
I’m going to eat piss and shit this play until I birth it from my reluctant sterile wom until that day I will carry it inside myself like a cancerous stone , not yet big enough to cut out,  not ready enough to present to prime time. And so it eats at my guts and plagues me. Filling itself on bile and conceit.
yet somewhere in this hell fire and brimstone pit of merciless anguish my beating heart still cradles the seeds of hope. My pulse forces each breath. I grasp for the straws of salvation the only things that will allow me to bring My thought s into the light.
Time to stop complaining. time to so worrying. and time to appreciate the good work I’ve already done.time to love the muses I’ve already touched. time to not stress myself anymore. time to be kind to who I am and recognize this anxiety is all an Extreme reaction to the fear of failure that plagues me as it does each writer.
Time to embrace the chaos within my unsettled soul. Grab this nightmare bull by the horns and ride the wave in.
Time to sleep and rise again to commit my thoughts to paper. There’s someone somewhere put there that also believes in them.and loves them.even though they don’t know it yet. Even though I don’t know it yet either.
Odie mama.



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