In which I confront crises of faith

Yes, I met with my friend about writing these past couple of weeks. I started to have some crises of faith after the meeting I didn't write about week before last. It's the usual "my story is sounding just like everyone else's" litany my brain gets into. Last week, it was clear that supressing emotion was a major theme in my book. "Just like in The Giver, just like in this, just like in that," said my brain all the way home from the meeting...

My friend is making much more progress. I was thinking about the fact I seem to be pretty good catalyst for other people. But the thing about catalysts is that in the end, in reactions they make good catalysts for, they don't do anything themselves. So then I start pursuing the analogy, and wondering if I'll ever be able to write my own stuff after all. It's easier to help others do the work than to do it myself. Safer, too. Fits in with my "behind the scenes" personality. More crises of faith that I will ever produce anything. Isn't my brain a strange place to be?

So she whipped a little sense into me last night, and I can at least come blog about it. We didn't focus much on my stuff, because, well, I hadn't done anything on it since the previous week. But she tried cracking the friendly whip my way, and maybe I'll have something done when we meet next month. (No meetings for two weeks, due to various vacation-type things.)

I can make up as many excuses as I want, and they'd all be true, but in the end they'd all be excuses. I haven't been writing because I haven't been, pure and simple. The ideas are there. The computer is there. The fingers are there. The time is even there, if I want it, no matter how much I might think otherwise. So what's really holding me back???