Laying Down the Gauntlet

I did a bit of writing last night, and it went a little better than previous recent efforts. Part of the problem I have, I think, it that I just didn't have a solid idea of what the story was that I was working on.

I have decided to commit once and for all, to a project which I have been thinking of, recently, which is that I should write one short story a week. Between Sunday and Saturday, I need to start and finish the rough draft of a story, or a chapter of some larger work. At the same time, I need to do a final edit on a different story, an set it up so it is presentable to other people.

I think I can do this, because I am always thinking up new ideas for stories, but I just never commit to writing them, or I push them off to the future, pledgint to start working on them at some later date. But my disinterest in political news is growing, and this seems like a excellent way to fill up my day.

Besides, in the past, The lack of another analytical approach to writing has allowed me to skirt by on actual output. By making some kind of formal declaration of my intentions in a public forum (to extent this blog is public) I hope to hold my feet to the fire. the the overhanging threat of analysis will force me to act, making have to be writing throughout the day, every day, because, if I am not, then I am sucking at life. There really is no other option.

So a short story a week it is. I figure, if I can keep that pace up, within, say, a year, I should enough actual writing under my belt, enough experience, to have the confidence to apply for a creative writing program again. Or do something else, I don't know. The main problem I have is just my performance anxiety and the preciousness with which I cling to every aspect of this activity, and I just have to jump into it uncaring, just revel in the act of doing it, like I did with drums, if I ever want to get better. This self-analytical tendency can be stifling, so I need to turn it into something constructive.