You're Doing It Wrong

Over the past 18 months many of the blogs I read regularly started to shut up shop. But their absence makes me feel no less nervous about starting my own. An internal struggle takes place between worrying that someone* might read your writing and judge it, and desperately hoping that someone** might read your writing at all. Sigh.

My current project is not close to complete. There is sun and chirpy birds today. "All the better to taunt you with, my dear."

I'm firm that I will not classify this as procrastination. Watching crap Mel Gibson movies until the wee hours of the morn is procrastination, searching through friends' facebook photos is procrastination, watching bands you don't particularly care for stumble ill-humouredly through interviews with oblivious hosts is procrastination. This is serving a purpose. This is a project to ensure that I write. Every day. Not analysis, not critique, not formulae as required by my work, but just write. For me.

But if just for me, why am I fearing the (apparently) inevitable interwebs put-down: You're Doing It Wrong?



*you admire
**with terrible taste, obvs.