It’s been some time since I’ve blogged, and I’m rather frustrated at myself for that. For several years, I posted a new blog faithfully at least once a week, but this year I’ve become more and more sporadic with my writing and my posting. The reason for it isn’t important. I’ve been busy, I’ve been distracted, etc., etc. Whether my reasons are valid and reasonable, or just lazy excuses, also isn’t important – the upshot is that I’ve fallen behind on my writing goals for the year, and I’m feeling rather lousy about it.
I’m feeling unproductive, feeling like a fraud (I can’t be a writer if I don’t actually write), and generally wondering if even the little bit I have written this year was worth the time and effort. But something that helped me to get it all back into perspective was earlier this month when I put Christmas lights on the little crooked fir tree in my front yard.
It’s barely five feet tall and is a perfect little Christmas tree shape – except for it being lopsided due to crowding by a large thorny bush that’s trying to take over everything. It’s a Christmas tree-wannabe, and looks the way I’ve been feeling – like a writer-wannabe.
But even though this tree is lopsided, once it’s all lit up with Christmas lights on a dark night, it looks just as pretty as any other lit tree. Its crooked trunk and the thornbush next to it don’t negate its worth as a pretty little festive spot in my yard. It’s imperfect, but that doesn’t matter.
The writing I’ve done this year (and in years past) is still good writing, and is still out there for other people to enjoy. And next year I can begin anew with goals and discipline, and I can write more and better than ever before. Yes, I’m still a writer. Imperfect, yes (because we all are, after all), but still a writer.
Here’s to a wonderful 2019! Go write, go shine, and Merry Christmas to all!