I'm a writer, or so I tell myself, but even if I am someday published or a script is produced, I must admit I will probably never make a living doing it for I am simply not prolific enough. Every time I sit down to write I am distracted by something shiny. That's excuse number 1, being unable to sit at a computer and write without hitting a block after ten minutes and then spending the next two hours wasting my brain cells on the internet.
Excuse number TWO is that while I often come up with fun little story ideas, few ever inspire me enough to finish them. I'm a person who has great stories to tell but rarely the inspiration, the drive, the motivation. I also self-edit like a mad man when I SHOULD be drafting until I come up with a complete pile of shit but a FINISHED pile of shit, that I can then make less shitty. I'll get three pages into something I'm very excited about when I sit down, but once the fire is lost it never comes back and I lose it in record time, every time.
Maybe it's just not for me. I know it's not true, it's been my favorite daydream for years now, above directing or photography or music or any other interest of mine. Yet I still talk myself out of writing, and that's the biggest excuse of all. This BLOG, in fact, is one gigantic stream-of-consciousness excuse to make me write SOMETHING every day until I'm in the habit.
A blog about excuses that is itself an excuse. How meta.
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