I’m not a prolific writer, but one day I’ll be ok with that
Photo by Liza Summer from Pexels
My relationship with ‘content’ has revolved around writing or editing it — in some form or another—since around 2006. But at the time, I had no aspiration to be someone who blogs, or otherwise ‘broadcasts’ their thoughts to an online audience.
I just did marketing. Then I went home and didn’t write anything.
Then I just did digital marketing. Then I went home and didn’t write anything.
And that was fine.
Wind on to early 2016, and one day I decided to try and build my own site. Building the first iteration in under a day, I added a ‘Blog’ section (and a ‘Freelancing’ section) to the nav menu, and there we are; I was suddenly a blogger.
I’d thought about writing my own blog for so long; tending to some kind of online ‘corner’ of my own where I could get some words out of my head and into the digital ether.
I’d fired the starting gun. 🏃🏻♀️
“Oh yeah, so now I have to write I guess?”
I did a bit of writing on and off for my site, and slowly, slowly this began to expand out into the occasional guest article here and there.
Over the last couple of years, things have gathered a bit more momentum (which has been amazing). But all this has been no small feat, I don’t mind telling you. Working two jobs, life — and all the ups and downs that brings, having many fingers in multiple career-related pies (like helping to organise the wonderful #ContentClubUK Twitter chat)... it leaves little regular time for writing.
The overall pace for my written outputs has been nothing short of being ‘fits and starts,’ in style.
I’ve been lucky to get to the point I’m at when I reflect on it all. But at times, I’ve found myself feeling distinctively inadequate (and even slightly envious) when I see how relentlessly productive and disciplined-as-hell other writers can be.
“I’m seeing something new from ‘x’ every day on here? How do they keep this up?!”
This pondering can make you feel like you’re not good enough. It’s a feeling that rises and then falls, as I do my regular round of drifting in and out of content browsing, over the days, weeks, months.
I have previously beaten myself up about this many times; silently and unsparingly.
I reflect on all the literature, classic and modern, that I should have read by now; books that could have made me a better writer.
I see books specifically about becoming a better writer and think “I should definitely read that” — but beyond buying the book and having it land on my doormat just a couple of days later, I know, I KNOW it will just sit on my bedside table for weeks — until it gets replaced with another item I mean to use, but then don’t.
Perhaps you’re reading this and totally get what I’m talking about because this is you too?
It’s only very recently that I’ve come to realise that scolding myself for not partaking in all these great resources and producing content at a prolific rate needs to stop.
When I choose to write should be totally down to me. I just can’t make myself write every day. It doesn’t work like that for me. It wouldn’t feel sincere.
I have to write when I’m ready.
So now, I’m at the beginning of starting to forgive myself for not being as prolific as others; accepting too that I probably never will be.
My aim from here on in is to try to shift my thinking away from all the self-criticism and towards allowing myself the freedom to concentrate on just writing good things
— when I’m ready to write them.
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