Hello? Testing... Is this thing on?

     So I have this blog.  And theoretically I am a writer.  So why do I not write for my blog?  I have no idea.

     I call myself a painter.  I don't paint.  I have canvases that will need to have the dust washed off before they can be used.

     I have had an idea for a novel for years, but I can't seem to do anything with it except come up with what I call "fringe" ideas, meaning that I have character names, some settings, and other various odds and ends, but when it comes to actually writing text, well, no.

     I am and have always been a procrastinator.  But when I was a teenager I knew I wanted to write.  I read what Steinbeck did with words and stories and I wanted to do that.  In my 20s I read Norman Maclean's "A River Runs Through It" and knew that I would never write anything so lyrically beautiful, but I still wanted to belong to the club, so to speak.  I still want to.  I guess I have finally realized exactly what the dues are that need paying.

     Don't get me wrong, my ego tells me (and various other people) that I am a writer already.  I can discuss mechanics.  I can discuss plot development, setting, you name it.  I can sound convincing that I know what I'm talking about.  But I have never finished a story.  I think my "mathematical" or "analytical" mind wants to get bogged down and distracted by details and minutiae.  I guess it's an ADD thing.  Very similar to my lack of success in academics.  (Or painting for that matter.)

     For some reason I feel like I need to create some sort of plan or framework or skeleton even for my novel.  I have to decide the timeline of events, the setting...  all of the crazy little stuff that I'll probably end up changing during the rewrite but that seems so necessary to decide on before I start.

     Writing teachers and others have told me to "just sit down and write", but for some reason that approach seems wrong to me.  I get the purpose of it and it makes a lot of sense, but it seems to be a great effort to make my fingers touch the keys.

     And yes, I get the odd coincidence that I am writing right now as I type this.  But...

     And now I realize that I am still just making the same old excuses.

     Years ago, shortly after we were married, my wife told me what is probably the most profound truth that any person has ever said to me.  She told me that I have never suffered from a fear of failure.  I suffer from a fear of success.  She explained that failure didn't scare me because I had been through failure but had continued on.  She clarified by telling me that I was afraid of success in that if I were to succeed at something that I really cared about, then it would be expected of me, and I didn't want that responsibility.

     She was right, of course.  And I knew she was when she said it.  I just wish that I hadn't wasted the last 19 years ignoring it.

     Now, I have no idea whether I'll be successful with writing (or painting-- or woodworking, etc.), but I have made another realization recently that, like so many other things in my life, I have known intellectually but have not accepted to be able to know emotionally.  That simple concept is that I do not need to be financially successful at something for it to have value in its pursuit.  Catharsis or simply enjoyment of the process are reason enough to pursue something.

     Now...  It's time for me to get to work.