i didn’t create a thing today, and for some reason that makes me feel bad. i made out valentines for the impending valentine’s day holiday and that required putting stickers on pieces of paper, but even i can’t con myself into believing that counts as creating something.

i’m afraid. i’ve been afriad for a few weeks. afraid that i’m fooling myself about this writing thing. that someone pretty soon is gonna figure it out and call me on it and say, “you ain’t no real writer, who are you trying to kid?” then they’ll take away my pens and my keyboard and make me go sit in the corner and watch reality tv with all of the other mindless, uncreative drones.

i keep hoping that the start of class in 2 week will revive my addiction, it usually seems to work magic. i also have to finish a short story in just under 12 days or i’ll kick my own ass. i actually started one. i just haven’t finished it, because i’m afraid, or lazy, or complacent, or a combination of the three.

i’m just really worried that i don’t have what it takes. i read a lot and i just think, “man i wish i could do that” or “man, i’ll never be that good.” i worry that my voice is not unique and i sound like 1,938 other women in the night.

and i know this is the same worries that plague a lot of writers, but somehow they seem to solider through and i haven’t been able to figure out how to do that yet.