Once a month I carpool to my Jane Austen Appreciation Group with a brilliant writer. We talk shop. Let's call her Jane-Austen-Writer-Friend.
On our ride yesterday, Jane-Austen-Writer-Friend told me about how she's produced "...over a thousand pieces of published writing since college. Nothing ground breaking. But still...they're published," she said.
And before I could ask how she thought she was able to produce so much, she answered me.
She shrugged. "My writing isn't precious. I don't treat it like it's something special. Because it's not. It's words. Any my words are not precious. If they were, I'd never write anything. There'd be too much pressure."
What I took from that is this:
Jane-Austen-Writer-Friend's ability to let go of writing or, more specifically, to see it through a detached but respectful distance eliminates any opportunities for self-doubt.
And with that nugget in mind I finally update this blog. Why? Because Jane-Austen-Writer-Friend was right. Regardless of where I go in my writing and editing career, this blog is not precious. But I'd been procrastinating on posting because I didn't have anything amazing or hilarious or inspiring to say. And that's OK.
Anyway, here's a picture of my dogs.
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| Henry, Finnegan, and Ridley. April 2018. |
