it’s always the beginning of writing that is most difficult for me. the decision to post my morning pages is a double-edged knife. the public aspect of it keeps me accountable gives me some sense that the stakes are higher than just a daily ritual that can easily fade off. at the same time, knowing the people are reading is a kind of pressure to say something insightful, profound, and beautiful.
my longer posts usually go on for so long, not because i’ve been struck by the muse and can’t stop writing. it’s usually because my brain is either too distracted to be insightful, too clouded to be profound, or too self-critical to say something beautiful.
it’s times like this when i need to remind myself that writing in the first place is actually the point. not that i know anything about fishing or hunting or harvesting, but if i did, i’d probably talk about how even the days where you don’t catch something at least provide the air, the space, the solitude to make it a day well spent. in the same way, the sessions where i generate what feels like a throwaway offer at least a few dozen words that wouldn’t have otherwise been written, a handful of thoughts that wouldn’t have otherwise been thunk, and if i’m lucky, maybe even a point that wouldn’t have otherwise been made.