Ah, ambition. You make it all seem so easy. And yet, I find myself staring at the computer screen, waiting for brilliant words to flow out of my fingers and onto the page. Suddenly, it isn't so easy any more. Suddenly, it's overwhelmingly hard. Even after I've managed to pour some questionably brilliant thoughts onto the page, I must tear it apart again and again with editing. Fiddling and adjusting, rewording and getting rid of entirely. All in an attempt to create literary perfection. Cruel, cruel brain that can't supply immediate genius.
At least when the words come out I have something to play with. It's when they won't that I'm really in trouble. What then? I sit, staring, waiting, giving an awkward cough now and again as though I'm sitting in a doctor's waiting room. Wishing the rusty wheels in my head would start turning, praying for something smart to come out, or at the very least entertaining. Being a writer is not an easy job. It requires miles of creativity, hours upon hours of hard work and worst of all - self discipline. It is not just literary accomplishment I strive for, it is a better, more responsible self. I don't just want to be proud of my work. I want to be proud of myself.