Of Writing and Confusion

As I stare into the radiation bombarding my eyes from my monitor, I muse over the day and wonder at how I think I'll ever make a living as a writer. I am ill suited to the discipline required to work well on my own. No time clock, no pressure of a boss, why in the world do I presume to think I can write for money?

The human psyche is not something to trifle with. We are only here for a short while. That is such a trite statement. How many billions of humans have expressed that very same thought in nearly countless languages? I still must ask myself these questions. If I don't get into a writing mode soon, my family will be bankrupt and I will feel disgraced.

Am I waiting for that calamity to motivate me? What keeps us from achieving our dreams? I have dreamt of writing for a living for decades. Now that I'm on the cusp, why waffle? Is it a fear of success/failure? Is it laziness? Hell, is it self esteem?

I am a confused man. That is not to say I'm stupid, poorly educated or ignorant. I simply get confused by all the contradiciton of this world. One day I'll understand. That day involves death of some nature, I'm certain. I must reveal myself to this world if only through my blogs, books, webs, tweets and other communicative medium.

I fear I'm entering a stage of persecution. Persecution for writing that which is on my writer's heart. Everything I write is not necessarily my belief written in stone. I like the liberty writing gives you - the liberty to create and take on persona's you otherwise would never live. I like writing the bad guy. I like the decadence of fiction. Good fiction. I love a great story. I crave the ability to spin a yarn everyone falls in love with. Yes, that's that "Great American Novel" kinda thing. Can't help it, I want it.

So I'm off to continue my writing career. Wish me luck. The confusion grows thicker the further I progress ...