Vent of Hearing

NaNoWriMo

I'm not going to begin to embarrass myself by saying I'm going to enter NaNoWriMo. Whilst there are plenty of words inside me, trying to get out, I've effectively setup a writer's block in my mind. I can conjure up an endless list of tasks and goals to place in front of doing what I really want to do.

I know it won't be very good, that isn't the point. If I thought I'd be any good at writing, I'd have done it a time ago. To write things. To write lots of things. To be creative. There are myths of little old ladies writing novels, stacks and stacks of pages in attics and bedrooms all over the world. They may be rubbish, but there is a concrete, solid achievement.

I've been updating a (failed?) weblog for six months, to stop myself doing what I really want to do. I've been pretty proficient there, but can't write creatively. There are various things I do that do take my time; work, children, wife and house, but I still have time to play computer games, read, blog and watch telly. Why can't I write?