I guess sometimes I take stock and wonder why I keep at this journaling/blogging thing. Something makes me go. I haven’t felt much inspiration lately. Actually, I’ve been avoiding this screen a little. Just a little. But Steve said this:
Writing is hard work. People who don’t even try to write, I think, cannot understand this. You know whatever it is, it’s in there, and you can get it out, if you just keep plugging away. But it can be tiring, and frustrating, and defeat you if you let it.
That, I can understand. I guess I think if I keep plugging away, I’ll get it all out. I think my writing has improved with practice. It’s more natural, flows better. I have been feeling the itch to write something. Fiction. Another book. Find a publishing home for my first book, while I’m at it. But what? Ideas? Not yet. Time? Forget it. So this is my outlet. And sometimes I can’t bring myself to write anything worth reading here. It is very tiring and frustrating. I feel like I’m sinking under it, and I don’t know if I should continue to fight — to write.
And of course, this comes as I am accomplishing things with my writing at work: an article about my class’s incorporation of cheshbon hanefesh into the English curriculum with a study of Ben Franklin (pdf file, uncredited but written by me) or an outline of the differences between college prep and honors English at our school.
I’m going to bed. Lots of parent/teacher conferences tomorrow. I don’t know why I’m having so many. I am dreading it. I want to communicate with parents, but I would feel better knowing where they are coming from. If that even makes sense.