I’ve given up writing. Serious attempts at it, I mean. Dabbling in one-offs I don’t take issue with–it’s not as if I post often, after all, so what’s the harm? Big stuff, however, like the story in my head about Nathan and Sarah…those will never be done. I’m not a writer, I only ever dreamed about it. I don’t have talent at anything, frankly, except picking apart things and finding their mistakes (never a popular skill, I assure you), so there’s really no point at beating a dead horse.
And honestly, I’ve felt so free since I gave it up. My husband tells me to write, and instead of lamenting my lack of time to try (work, motherhood, keeping house, etc), I can say with confidence “I’m no writer” and go back to what needs doing, instead of messing about with characters and a pitiable plot. Deleting what I have already (terrible as it is) won’t happen–I’m just going to leave it there. If I change my mind, or somehow acquire talent (ha!), I may resume…but I’m not holding my breath. Life is easier, less pressured and less dissatisfying; I am what I am, nothing more and nothing less. My place as one of the nameless and faceless unknowns is as secure as it ever was…I’m just accepting it. 🙂
Meanwhile, I hope to soon post another part of the Match series. They don’t mean anything, really–they’re just doors I’ve opened and peeked through, then shut again–but they’re a pleasant diversion.